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POEMS 



POEMS 



By BRIAN HOOKER 




YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS 
MDCCCCXV 



T535l^ 



,0 



111' 



Copyright, 1915 
By Yalb University Press 



First printed March, 1915, 1,000 copies 



PUBLISHERS' NOTE 

The author desires to acknowledge the courtesy 
of the publishers of The Century Magazine, The Fo- 
rum, Hampton's Magazint-i, Harper's Magazine, Mc- 
Clure's Magazine, Scribnor's Magazine, The Smart 
Set, The Yale Review and Yale University Glee Club 
for permission to reprint here such poems as have 
already appeared in their pages. 






APR 12 1915 

©aA398()08 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



Lilacs in the City 

Ballade of the Dreamland Rose 

A Situation 

A Little Person 

Oneiros 

A Ballad of Sin 

Echoes 

Plus Ultra . 

Forsitan 

Womanhood 

Golden-Eyes 

Fragrances . 

Everyman's Epitaph 

Fools' Wisdom . 

Ballade of Farewell 

The White Cat : A Fairy-poem 

Sonnets : 

Idolatry : Three Sonnets 

Andante 

A Schoolgirl Speaks 
Love and Pain: Two Sonnets 
[v] 



Page 
1 

4 
6 
9 
11 
16 
18 
19 
20 
21 
22 
24 
24 
25 
26 

SI 

67 
70 
71 

72 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

Page 

Ghosts 74 

"Haec Olim Meminisse . . ." . . . . 75 

Somnambula 76 

From Life 77 

A Portrait . 78 

Ars Longa 79 

April Noon 80 

For the Centenary of Samuel Johnson ... 83 

Songs : 

A Man-child's Lullaby 89 

Amulets 90 

Song: Dear, though you wander over peace 

and passion 91 

Mother of Men 92 

A Man's Song 93 

A Woman's Song 94 

A Robin's Song 95 

An Old Song 96 

Song : The skies are dimly bright, Love . . 97 

Song : I know a bower sweet and shy . . 98 

Together 99 

Rosa Mundi 100 

The Moon-path 101 

Offerings . 102 

Song : Only a little while since first we met 1 03 
[vi] 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

Song : The clouds are drifting drowsily 
Absences 



Morven and the Grail 



Turns : 

Prelude 

When the Weary Winter's Gone 

Miserere . 

Sequel 

**Nunc et Latentis 

Home-coming 

Congratulations 

Weariness 

Reverie 

A Character 

Umbra 

In Passing 

Recall 

The Maker of Images 



Page 
104 

105 
109 

133 
133 
134 
134 
135 
135 
136 
136 
137 
137 
138 
138 
139 

143 



vii 1 



LILACS IN THE CITY 

Amid the rush and fever of the street, 

The snarl and clash of countless quarrelling bells. 
And the sick, heavy heat, 

The hissing footsteps, and the hateful smells, 
I found you, speaking quietly 

Of sunlit hill-horizons and clean earth; 

While the pale multitude that may not dare 
To pause and live a moment, lest they die. 

Swarmed onward with hot eyes, and left you 
there — 
An armful of God's glory, nothing worth. 

You are more beautiful than I can know. 

Even one loving you might gaze an hour 
Nor learn the perfect flow 

Of line and tint in one small, purple flower. 
There are no two of you the same. 
And every one is wonderful and new — 

Poor baby-blossoms that have died unblown. 

And you that droop yourselves as if for shame, 
You too are perfect. I had hardly known 

The grace of your glad sisters but for you. 



in 



POEMS 



You myriad of little litanies ! 

Not as our bitter piety, subdued 
To cold creed that denies 

Or lying law that severs glad and good; 
But like a child's eyes, after sleep 

Uplifted; like a girl's first wordless prayer 

Close-held by him who loves her — no distress 
Nor storm of supplication, but a deep, 

Dear heartache of such utter happiness 
As only utter purity can bear. 

For you are all the robin feels at dawn; 

The meaning of green dimness, and calm noons 
On high fields far withdrawn. 

Where the haze glimmers and the wild bee croons. 
You are the soul of a June night: — 

Intimate joy of moon-swept vale and glade. 
Warm fragrance breathing upward from the ground, 

And eager winds tremulous with sharp delight 
Till all the tense-tuned gloom thrills like a sound — 

Mystery of sweet passion unafraid. 



[S] 



LILACS IN THE CITY 



O sweet, sweet, sweet ! You are the proof of all 

That over-truth our dreams have memory of 
That day cannot recall: 

Work without weariness, and tearless love^ 
And taintless laughter. While we run 
To measure dust, and sounding names are hurled 

Into the nothingness of days unborn. 
You hold your little hearts up to the sun, 

Quietly beautiful amid our scorn — 
God's answer to the wisdom of this world. 



3] 



BALLADE OF THE DREAMLAND ROSE 

Where the waves of burning cloud are rolled 

On the further shore of the sunset sea^ 
In a land of wonder that none behold, 

There blooms a rose on the Dreamland Tree 
That stands in the Garden of Mystery 

Where the River of Slumber softly flows; 
And whenever a dream has come to be, 

A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose. 

In the heart of the tree, on a branch of gold, 

A silvern bird sings endlessly 
A mystic song that is ages old, 

A mournful song in a minor key, 
Full of the glamour of faery; 

And whenever a dreamer's ears unclose 
To the sound of that distant melody, 

A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose. 



[4] 



BALLADE OF THE DREAMLAND ROSE 



Dreams and visions in hosts untold 

Throng around on the moonlit lea: 
Dreams of age that are calm and cold, 

Dreams of youth that are fair and free — 
Dark with a lone heart's agony, 

Bright with a hope that no one knows — 
And whenever a dream and a dream agree, 

A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose. 

Envoi 

Princess, you gaze in a reverie 

Where the drowsy firelight redly glows ; 
Slowly you raise your eyes to me. . . . 

A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose. 



[S] 



A SITUATION 

Not that I mean to make trouble. ... All the same, 
I could reach him so easily, easily — just one glance. 
One word sometimes, to awaken the whole ro- 
mance — 

It's enough to tempt a Minerva to play the game . . . 
And she so careful never to give me a chance ! 

He's a younger cousin, or some relation of hers ; 

(She's older than I) and the two are really friends, 
Equal, intimate comrades — and there it ends: 

Never a thought of anything better or worse. 

And nearly the same with me, but . . . that 
depends. 

No one I want — just a big, dear, innocent boy 
With a man's blunt will and elaborate honesties. 
And the arms and back of a man, and sweet boy's 
eyes 

Easily brightened with laughter or darkened with 

joy- 
Inexperienced, eager, and not too wise! 

Nothing to rouse me deeply, or hold me long — 

I have buried my dead, and seen my share of men — 
But the wish comes back upon me again and again 

To awaken the man in the boy, and find him 
strong . . . 
And a horrible sick little shudder now and then, 

[6] 



A SITUATION 

As he sits with his hand on hers, as a matter of course. 
Or sprawls on the floor with his head against her 

knee 
Wholly unconscious, forgetting the He and She, 
Which somehow, nevertheless, has a subtle force 
When their wills or opinions oppose and their eyes 
agree. 

If she would only not be quite so motherly ! 
Patronizingly watching us day by day — 
When his eyes follow on as I move, and rest where 
I stay. 

Or his voice drops half a tone below the brotherly — 
Off goes the conversation another way ! 

As if she said: " Come look at my lovely flowers — 
Please do not pluck any; I never do, you know. 
Only I like to plant them and watch them grow". . . 

If the two were boy and girl in their first mad hours, 
I should laugh, and help them, and bless them, and 
let them ""o! ^ 

And yet . . . What a foolish waste there will be of 
beauty 
When he finds the one conventional child for him, 
(With an untaught voice, and elbows youthfully 
slim) 
Who follows him stupidly down the path of duty. 
So blind with her own new glory that his grows 
dim! 

[7] 



POEMS 

To make him take me, knowing myself the first — 
I who could measure his utmost power of giving, 
I who could prize his virginal believing, 

I who have learned the lore of the best and worst . . . 
Why, it would make the life I have lived worth 
living ! 

Only — have I still anything left to spare? 
Well, an education in love, to the last degree. 
Is cheap at the price of a shrivelled vanity. 

I at least ought to think so — I've had my share. 
Not that I mean to make trouble, but ... we 
shall see. 



[8] 



A LITTLE PERSON 

Sunny hair and eyes of wonder. 

Baby-lips apart, 
Vivid mother-breast, whereunder 

Laughs a childish heart — 
What have you to do with learning 

Wiser bliss or woe? 
Take our gold; the cost of earning 

You shall never know. 

You shall joy as for another, 

Find it strange to weep, 
Play at being wife and mother. 

Dream, and fall asleep; 
All we toil for, all we doubt of, 

All we yearn to see. 
All our hopes have sneered us out of — 

You shall prove, and be. 

You shall purify deceiving 

With a glad disdain. 
Beautifully unbelieving 

Meet the eyes of pain. 
Dance through hells undreamed-of, bringing 

Benefits unguessed: 
Unto shame, a sound of singing, 

Unto passion, rest. 

[9] 



POEMS 

Sunny hair and eyes of wonder, 

Baby-lips apart, 
Vivid mother-breast, whereunder 

Laughs a childish heart, 
Soul unsinful, unforgiven, 

Voice of dawn and dew — 
God one morning, glad of heaven, 

Laughed — and that was you! 



[10] 



ONEIROS 

Out of the hush and darkness of deep sleep 

Your face came toward me: first a nebulous gleam 

Like some dim star beheld with eyes that weep ; 
Then wavering nearer in a misty flame, 
As the moon falters up through some dark stream 

When the wind moves at midnight. With you came 
A breath of music, faint and far away. 

And light and music somehow seemed the same: 
The one, all hope that longing turns to fear ; 
The other, all men dream and dare not say. 

Slowly the brightness broadened, and drew near. 
And orbed into the wonder of your face ; 

While the sound swelled and echoed trembling-clear — 
The minor dominant of a wild desire 
Beating the sullen bars of time and space; 

And with your coming, ever the sound rose higher, 

Quivering with extremity of sweet. 
And I could see your eyes ; and the dim fire 

That framed your face became your golden hair 

Falling in streams of Summer to your feet; 

[^^1 



POEMS 

And the wild melody shook earth and air, 

You ever drawing closer, till at last 
Music and brightness grew too great to bear — 
Then suddenly the yearning cadence caught 

The chord it longed for, and I held you fast. 

Then the dream changed. Heavy with heat and 
fraught 
With sighs of slumbering roses, hung the gloom 
Over us. Little breezes passed, and caught 

Sweetness from bower and flower, and wandered 
on 
Through murmuring groves and beds of hidden 
bloom. 

Hard by, a marble palace rose, that shone 
With pearly balconies and columns tall 

Sprayed into arch like fountains turned to stone; 
And from a lower window deep-embayed 
Two bars of yellow light shot forth, to fall 

On your white dress and shining head, and made 
A saint of you, and passed unwillingly. 

Paling to amber where they half displayed 

Mysterious gardens darkling down to meet 
The starlit laughter of the distant sea. 



[12] 



ONEIROS 

Down with the light swept the swift-pulsing beat 

Of eager music^ and the yellow bars 
Were shaken and shaded as the flying feet 

Of dancers crossed the light. All throbbed in 
time — 
The music, and our hearts, and the hot stars. 

Woes of dead lovers in an ancient rhyme, 

Deeds of dead heroes when the world was young, 

Strife of great souls that vainly strove to climb 
Steeps of sheer joy where only angels tread — 
Ached in that music, finding heart and tongue. 

And the old childhood feelings I thought dead 
Came back upon me, seeming strange and new; 

Love of I knew not what, and causeless dread, 
And vague desire; all old things passed away 
Returned fulfilled, and all found form in you. 

Under a huge dim-towering tree I lay. 
You bending over me. I knew my sight 

Had never fallen on your face by day — 

Yet had I known you well, and sought you long. 
Loved in forgotten dreams for many a night; 



[13] 



POEMS 

And you were soft and dear, like an old song, 

And strange as moonlit clouds. Love strung to 
pain 
Tightened your cheek, and made your breath grow 
long 
And your lips brighten. Tears were in your 
eyes. 
And in your hair, the scent of Summer rain. 

And as I held you close, we seemed to rise 
And float away over the waves of sound; 

And all things but ourselves were fantasies: 

Death an old lie; and Life an empty quest; 
And Time a blind mole burrowing underground. 

Then our eyes drew you down. Your warm lips 
pressed 
On mine with eager kisses: all the dark 
Was full of you: through your quick-panting breast 
I felt your heart slow beating against my own 
Like the heat-pulses in a dying spark — 

Then the dream faded. Like a petal blown 

From some tall flower, you floated down — your 
whole 
Love in your eyes, and your white arms up-thrown — 
Blurred to a hazy glimmer far withdrawn, 
So faint I only seemed to see your soul, 

[U] 



ONEIROS 

Faded, and flashed, and vanished. . . . And the dawn 
Burst in upon me, and I woke. Yet still 

Truth seemed a shadow of the dream foregone; 

And all brave hopes, your glamour cast before; 
And all good thoughts, the echo of your will. 

And still you help me. Shall we meet once more. 

Out of the hush and darkness of deep sleep. 
In the day-world's tempestuous toil and war.f* 
And if I find you . . . will you ever be 
As the warm firelight of my home to me. 
Or some dim star beheld with eyes that weep? 



[15] 



A BALLAD OF SIN 

A King there was, both good and great, 
That was lord of a fair country; 

And a certain man within his realm 
Did scorn to the King's majesty. 

For he paid no tribute to the King, 

And he laughed away the law of the land, 

And day by day did rob and slay 
By craft of heart or might of hand. 

The King said: " He hath broke my law 

And in my realm done evilly; 
Yet, lest some need have driven him. 

He shall have gold and lands in fee." 

He took the King's good lands and gold. 
And squandered all in foolish wise; 

For he pledged the lands and spent the gold. 
On courtesans and courtesies. 

The King said: " He hath lost my gifts. 
And spent my goods in harlotry; 

Yet folly may be force unyoked — 
He shall have men to fight for me." 

[16] 



A BALLAD OF SIN 

He took the soldiers of the King, 
And led them forth to burn and kill, 

And ever his Lord's own banner bore 
To show he wrought by the King's will. 

The King said: " He hath shamed my crown, 
And stained my name with villainy ; 

Yet . . . treason is but want of faith — 
He shall have eyes that he may see." 

The man rode forth one summer morn 

Across a black and barren land. 
And a girl-child stood in his way 

Holding a white rose in her hand. 

The child laughed up in the man's eyes^ 
And held her rose for him to take. 

He smiled a stale smile, and passed by — 
She wept as if her heart would break. 

Then the King grieved, saying: " Alas, 
That my realm harbour such as he! 

There is no more that I may give. 
For now he hath dishonoured Me.'* 



[17] 



ECHOES 

In the old room, when May is ending, 
And day descending in the West, 

Into a golden stillness blending 
My memories of worst and best, 

Yesterday clings about to-morrow. 
Flinging a charm on time and place. 

Till calm lights and pale shadows borrow 
Frail outlines of your vivid face; 

And your voice calls from wall and rafter. 
Out of the long-forgotten years — 

A song that sorrow follows after, 
A laughter tremulous with tears. 



[18] 



PLUS ULTRA 

Love^ while our love was yet unborn. 
And your lips, doubting you, denied 
Gifts that should make you glorified 

In revelation won and worn — 
Still in your virgin eyes I knew 
God's promise of the joy of you 
Beyond your anger to subdue. 

Your maidenhood to hide. 

Now, when your lips have granted all 
Glory that may be dreamed or done 
Between the courses of the sun, 

In nature's deep confessional, — 
I see, where wonder underlies 
The wisdom of your wifely eyes, 
Unmasterable mysteries 

That never may be won. 



[19] 



FORSITAN 

Labour for Love; thy labour shall be vain. 

Conquer it; God shall laugh, and feed thee dust. 

Deserve it; thou shalt clasp a broken trust, 
Learning a wise unfaith. For joy or pain 
Love falleth wantonly, as falls the rain 

Alike upon the just and the unjust. 

Take all unclean that lieth to thine hand — 

There is no shame but wherewith Love may be. 
Be pure — thou fool, what shall it profit thee.'* 
Thine uttermost endeavour may command 
Upon the shore a grain the less of sand, 
A drop the more of water in the sea. 

Because the heart of Love is hidden higher 
Than ever poet sang or prophet saw. 
Beyond all dream of glory and of awe, — 
The very holiness of thy desire 
Shall blind thee to the gold within the fire. 

And hold thee from the best. This is the law. 

Therefore deserve; give wholly; do no ill; 

Labour, and overcome. So the one kiss 

May overflow a greater soul with bliss 

More curiously sought; or, if Chance will 

Thou shalt, remembering old beauty, still 

Worthily suffer, knowing what Love is. 

[20] 



WOMANHOOD 

Love to a lady said that kneeled before him, 

Fain of his light and of his glory fain: 
" Who ask of Love must manifold restore him 
For little joy, long pain." 

Swiftly she answered: " Lord, put forth thy power." 

(O, and the wonder of her lips and eyes !) 
" Let me know all. So I but have mine hour, 
What matter for the price .f*" 

Love laughed, and blessed her, saying: " The full 
measure 
Of all my sweet I give thee utterly; 
And in thy pain a joy beyond all pleasure. 
Seeing it comes of me." 



[21] 



GOLDEN-EYES 

Strange, that the thing I am should know 

The fulness and the perfect flower 
Of that old self, long lives ago ! . . . 

— It must be, when the flesh has died, 
The soul turns sunward a new side. 
And old lights darken. So that hour 

By its own soul-fire glimmers through — 
I wrought such glory out of you 
As death was frail to overpower! 

I was just entering the hall 

To greet my captive. . . . All before 
Blurs into gloom beyond recall — 
Until I see you standing there. 
The slant light maddened in your hair. 
And in your eyes no fear. Once more 
I breathe deep, hear my scabbard ring 
On the brown stones, and feel the sting 
Of the salt breeze through the high door. 

I claimed you mine. You railed, and scoffed. 

— Your lover must be near at last — 
And all the while, I thought how soft 

That grand white breast of yours would feel 
Close-crushed against my linked steel. . . . 

[22] 



GOLDEN-EYES 

You laughed. A sudden passion-blast 
Shook all my blood into one fire. 
And in a glory of desire 

I caught at you, and held you fast. 

Under my kisses and my strength 

You raved. Almost I feared you, when 
You tried to blind me. Then, at length. 
You changed: the hero-mother rose 
Into your golden eyes; close, close 
You held me, kissed me once — and then 
Folk shouted, and a trumpet blew 
Loudly. I reeled forth, drunk with you. 
To struggle in the press of men. 

They must have slain me in that fight. 
There was a ship with a high prow, 
And a man's face, foam-lipped and white. . . , 
Then the veil falls, and leaves me — here; 
Worthless, with none to hold me dear, 
No quiet hand upon my brow — 
I am but half a man alone ! . . . 
And you, that once were all my own. 
Ah, Golden-Eyes, where are you now? 



[23] 



FRAGRANCES 

When you pass by me swiftly, 

For a moment all the air 
Thrills with the breath of your passing 

And the summer of your hair. 

So, in the dark and the distance. 

There comes between sigh and sigh 

A breeze and a breath of beauty, 
As the thought of you drifts by. 



EVERYMAN'S EPITAPH 

Listen: I knew in life and breath 

Your darkest void, your purest flame; 

For I have loved, and smiled at death. 
And I have feared, alone with shame. 

Therefore this word I leave with you 
Who flush and faint as I have done: 

Doubt not that all good things are true. 
And the world fair to live upon. 



[U] 



FOOLS' WISDOM 

You thought you loved me, Dear — until you read 
In me what Love was ; then That Other came 

Who won your knowledge. So your dream was dead. 
And my reality was put to shame. 

It is a bitter thing to have no worth, 

To pour oneself out utterly, in vain; 
But — these things are of earth, and turn to earth: 

The lamp of pleasure and the shade of pain. 

" Be wise and manly ; leave such thoughts alone." 
The wise ones of this world laugh Love away, 

Criticise God, and play with bits of stone — 
I do not wish to be as wise as they; 

Only to love you perfectly, and wait. 
Nor stain with any doubt our joy to be. 

Never is but to-morrow. When we mate, 
Dear, we shall still have all eternity. 



[^5] 



BALLADE OF FAREWELL 

New roads to fare^ new toils to overthrow, 
New fields, made rich with fern and floweret, 

And beckoning seas where brave winds merrily blow 
Over the sun-bright waves of dawn — and yet. 
Never one sun rose but another set. . , . 

Wherefore, beseech you, count me not as they 

Who shun the venture and avoid the fray, 

Though I should pause within the empty hall. 

By the old hearth bow down to dream and pray. 
And bid at last a long farewell to all. 

Dim elms deepen the summer gloom below. 
Tangling the drowsy breeze in a soft net 

Of slowly waving leaves ; an amber glow 
Streams out of many windows, over wet 
Green grass, gray tower, and vine-hung parapet; 

And careless gusts of song start up, and stray 

Among the shadows ; the city's distant bray 
Softens ; and happy voices clash and call 

One to another, as I turn away. 

And bid at last a long farewell to all. 



[26] 



BALLADE OF FAREWELL 



Youth, and high hearts welcoming friend and foe, 

Careless of fear or failure; the clear jet 
And rainbow-spray of joyance; and the flow 
Of easy slumber to a morning met 
Blithely, fresh-eyed; madrigal, canzonet. 
Drink with glad boys and dance with maidens gay, 
Scorn of such laws as weaker souls obey — 

Carouse, adventure, dalliance, tryst, and brawl- 
Must we disown the sweetness of their sway. 
And bid at last a long farewell to all? 

These things are ebbing from us: and although 

It is more wise to frolic than to fret. 
Good to strew garlands on the grave of woe. 

Good to drink deep of laughter, and forget 

Weariness, and chill twilights, and the debt 
Inexorable that even we must pay 
Who in the House of Life rejoice to stay — 

Nevertheless, we find the banquets pall. 
See the leaves wither, and the lights turn gray. 

And bid at last a long farewell to all. 



[27] 



POEMS 



Wherefore, with half my days foregone, I go 

Now to begin true labour. I regret 
Only the song unborn, the unbent bow 

Whose quarry leaps unscathed. Nor dare I let 

My heart shrink from the turmoil and the sweat; 
For even already have I seen decay 
The glamour and dew-freshness of the May, 

And felt a weary body faint and fall. 
Remembering how I must fear delay. 

And bid at last a long farewell to all. 

Envoi 

Princes of Mirth ! Let no power disarray 
The pageants and fair trappings of our play, 

Until we turn our faces to the wall. 
Smile down the glimmering slopes of yesterday, 

And bid at last a long farewell to all. 

New Haven, 1909. 



[S8] 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY-POEM 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY-POEM 

There was a King's Son, once upon a time. 
Dwelling in a fair country, far away 
Even on the other side of Fairyland, 
Beyond the mountains and the sea. Through all 
His young life, he had never sought in vain, 
But what he asked was given; yet none the less 
The King's Son was not happy. Day by day. 
The King his father, that had been himself 
A king's son, gave him horse and hawk and hound, 
And taught him to ride straight and keep his spear 
Sharp, and his armour shining, to be strong 
In war, and swift upon the hunt, and wise 
In judgment, honouring the law. The Queen 
His mother, that had been a princess, gave him 
Silks and gems, a warm hearth and a soft bed, 
A table rich with spices and old wine. 
Red gold and ready servants; and taught him how 
To speak fair, understanding women's eyes. 
And sing sweet songs, charming the hearts of men. 
And be a prince in all. And his old nurse. 
That once had been a fairy in her youth — 
A brown and twisted witch like a dead tree — 
Gave him a great white cat, that all day long 
Drowsed in the sun or dozed before the fire. 
With emerald eyes half shut, and paws turned in, 

[31] 



POEMS 

Nor ever purred nor rubbed against his knee — 
But when the King's Son called her beautiful, 
Yawned, and looked elsewhere. And she told him 

tales 
Of elves and giants, wizards, trolls, and gnomes. 
And sleepless dragons, breathing flame, that kept 
Watch over hidden gold, and spellbound kings. 
And lone princesses in enchanted towers — 
Wonderful stories out of Fairyland, 
With all the sorry parts left out of them. 
And yet the King's Son was not happy. True, 
He sang and laughed, rode merrily to the hunt. 
And sat in council proudly. Yet he lacked 
In all these, what should prove a use for all — 
A cause for fight, a dream behind the song — 
And having all things, wanted — Everything. 

Now, it befell that while the King's Son slept 
One sweet midsummer midnight in the gloom 
Of his high chamber, the White Cat, that crawled 
Mousing amid the shadows, touched his hand 
In passing, and at the touch the King's Son sighed 
And stirred, opening his eyes. The moonlight fell 
Through leaves that breathed about his window, and 

lay 
In two broad bars athwart the chamber floor ; 
And between sleep and waking he beheld 
A milk-white Princess out of Fairyland 
Dancing under the moonbeams, glad as youth, 

[3S] 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY-POEM 

Beautiful as the memory of a dream. 
And sweet as hope. Her eyes were like the dawn; 
Her hair was like the twilight; and she moved 
Like music over water. And the King's Son 
Looking upon her, felt his whole heart break 
For wonder and great love. Then suddenly. 
Ere he could move or speak, a shadow crossed 
The light, and a breeze brushed the leaves, and blew 
Balm from the drowsy gardens, and passed by; 
And the Prince, gazing where his joy had been, 
Saw only emptiness. And while he watched. 
Forth from the shadow stole the great White Cat, 
And yawned, stretching her claws out one by one. 
And shook her ears, and turned, and walked away 
Waving her plumy tail aloft in air. 

But on the morrow, the Prince came before 
His father and his mother, saying: 

"Now 
That I am one-and-twenty, and a man, 
It is full time I proved your gifts to me 
Upon some high endeavour; for I live 
As a fat hawk here, or a pampered hound. 
Doing all things with cause for doing none. 
Useless. But last night, waking suddenly 
And wavering on the brink of sleep, I saw 
Where the broad moonbeams fell from wall to wall, 
A milk-white Fairy Princess dancing there. 
Beautiful as the memory of a dream, 

[S3] 



POEMS 

And sweet as hope. Her eyes were like the dawn; 
Her hair was like the twilight; and she moved 
Like music over water. And I knew, 
Gazing upon her, that my life was hers. 
And I shall follow her to Fairyland 
And find her, and possess her, or I die." 

And the King answered : 

" This is but a dream. 
Such as young blood dreams in the summer. Nay, 
By thine own speech I know it for a dream — 
Moon-maidens dancing ! Use and uselessness ! — 
Bide here till harvest, when our foemen spring 
Out of the south, ten thousand spears: that war 
Shall find thee use enow. Nevertheless, 
If thou must ride a-dreaming, take my sword. 
I won my kingdom with it years ago, 
But it shall never win thee thy desire." 

And the Queen cried, clutching her mother-heart 
With one white hand: 

" Child, there has fallen a spell 
Upon thee. Thou hast slept under the moon. 
And that breeds madness. Bide thou here, and let 
Wise doctors wash this vapour from thy brain. 
Are there no maids in our own country? Still, 
If thou must go a-maying, take my harp — 
I won my treasure with it, years ago. 
Yet it shall never charm thee to thy dream." 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY-POEM 

Lastly the old Nurse drew from out her breast 
A dingy mirror, cracked and stained, set round 
With dull gold and dim gems, muttering: 

" Take this ; 
For they who seek in vain through Fairyland 
Their hearts' desire, perish. Do I not know? 
I was dead once, and saw my life therein — 
Yet ... it shall never show thee thine own face." 

But the King's Son, scarce heeding their dark 
speech 
For the light of his dream within him, took the gifts, 
And called for horse and arms, and rode away 
Singing, across the sunshine. And the White Cat 
That drowsed on the warm stones beside the door. 
Twisting her lazy body in the sun. 
Rose up, and ran before him upon his way. 
And would not stay behind, nor be denied. 



So the King's Son rode forth, following his dream 
Over bright meadows merry with flower and bee. 
And through cool woods holy with moss and fern, 
Even to the utmost borders of the world, 
Beyond the mountains and the sea. And still 
The White Cat went before, nor ever turned 
To look on him, nor paused, nor gave a sign 
Of watching that he followed, but went on 
As one that fared alone at her own will, 

[35] 



POEMS 

And pointed out his way. But when they came 

To the huge wall of gold that guards the bounds 

Of Fairyland, its glimmering length flung far 

From dawn to sundown, and the gates aflame 

With amethyst and opal, whereupon 

Is written in a tongue old as the world: 

" Who enters here must seek his heart's desire " — 

And overhead, hung by a single hair, 

A great sword shines and swings, trembling — she 

stayed ; 
And would not pass there till he went before, 
Then followed. And the King's Son, entering, rode 
Through a glad country bright with sun, and fair 
With blossoms that before his charger's feet 
Sprang up, and shed their fragrance, and fell down 
Fading behind him; and the low skies burned 
Purple and rose and saffron, as if the dawn 
Lingered and flushed the noonday; and the trees 
Reached forth green arms to him, and brushed his 

cheek 
Like soft hands ; and the breeze behind him shook 
With whispers, and in front through the warm green, 
White breasts flashed, and dark eyes glanced, and a 

sound 
Of girlish laughter fled from tree to tree; 
And the sweet air sang in his blood like wine. 
And the King's Son, riding, unslung his harp, 
And sang across the summer and the sun: 



[36] 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY-POEM 

" Youth rides forth to-day! 

Lads of mettle rare, 

Ladies debonair — 
Will ye say him nay? 
Joy shall dance and play. 

Love shall clasp and cling. 
Through the glad array 

Of his following, 

" Over earth and air 

Flows the fire of spring. 

Filling everything. 
Thrilling everywhere; 
Shall a world so fair. 

Calling, be denied? 
Bid him dare to dare — 

Bid him mount and ride! 

" Round him in a ring 

Gather glorified — 

Every maid a bride. 
Every man a king — 
Wreaths and roses fling 

Down his conquering way; 
Laugh and kiss and sing — 

Youth rides forth to-day!'* 



[37 



POEMS 

And as the song closed, all around broke out 

A clapping of tiny hands, and all the air 

Filled with soft cries of pleasure; and he felt 

About his neck the clasp of invisible arms. 

And touch of bodiless lips upon his own; 

And shimmering winds flashed by, and caught his 

cloak 
And tugged his bridle. Only the White Cat 
Beside his stirrup paid no heed, but yawned. 
Curving her pink tongue, and looked elsewhere. Then, 
Far off a solitary trumpet rang 
From that which, glittering on the distant hills, 
Blazed like a lesser sun. Whither the Prince, 
Following his viewless guides across the plain 
Deep-spread with bloomy fragrance, was aware 
Of a tall castle all of glittering glass. 
Whose towers the clouds encrimsoned, and whose base 
The earth tinged living green; and its whole breadth 
Brake diamond-like into a myriad lights 
Of wall and buttress, porch and parapet. 
Cornice and battlement and balcony. 
And clustered columns branching into arch 
Like frozen spray; and the slant lights, and lines 
Tangled, and the clear substance of it all. 
So mazed his vision that he rode half blind 
Before the glare thereof, nor might discern 
The outer from the inner. But he saw. 
High on a fretted balcony that hung 
In one broad band of fire from tower to tower, 

[38] 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY -POEM 

A pearl-white Princess crowned with gold^ and robed 
In purple. And her eyes were like the day; 
Her hair was like the summer ; and she moved 
Like sunshine on the sea. And leaning down. 
She stretched her arms toward him, and cried his 

name. 
Saying: 

" I weary of the brightness here. 
Come." 

And with that, the King's Son gave one cry, 
Recognizing the vision of his dream. 
And spurred his charger to the gate, and seized 
The golden horn that hung there, and breathed deep. 
Then blew. 

Slowly the drawbridge creaked and swung, 
Descending; the portcullis rose; the gates 
Opened, and down that shining pathway strode 
A monstrous giant, all in golden arms, 
Demanding what he sought; whereto the Prince: 

" Do battle for the Princess prisoned there." 
So the twain rushed together, while above. 
The Princess on her balcony laughed loud. 
And called, cheering them on; and the White Cat, 
That in the midmost branches of an elm 
Clung bristling, like a ball of thistledown. 
Hissed angrily. And the Giant heaved on high 
His mace, and at the first stroke, stooping, swung 
Against the charger's feet, and swept him down 

[39] 



POEMS 

Sidelong beneath his rider^ as the scythe 
Topples the standing corn. But the King's Son 
Leaped clear, and found foothold, and sprang within 
The swing of the huge mace upon him; and then, 
Mindful at once of many a fairy tale — 
How giants all are weakliest at the knee — 
And gathering his whole might into one stroke, 
Stabbed. And the Giant roared aloud, and swung 
Tottering a moment, then clanged down. His shield 
Boomed like a gong, and the ground under him 
Rang hollow, smitten by his golden arms. 
As though the earth were golden; and the sound 
Rolled bellowing from beneath, and jarred afar 
In subterranean thunder, and rumbled away 
Beyond the horizon. So the Giant fell. 
And heaved and groaned a moment, and lay still. 

And the King's Son, amazed to have won the quest 
So easily, dizzy with joy, and strong 
In the surety of his triumph, turned, and strode 
Over the drawbridge, through the fiery arch 
Of those high gates, and crossed the echoing hall. 
And climbed the glassy stairway, where his dream 
Waited him. And he knelt before her feet. 
And kissed her hand, murmuring: 

" Lo, I have come. 
Having seen thee and sought thee. Therefore follow 

me 
Home to my father's kingdom." 

[40] 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY-POEM 

And she said, 
Smiling into his eyes : 

" Wherefore?" 

She seemed 
Rosier than he had seen her in his dream, 
And sturdier. Nevertheless his whole heart burned 
For rapture of her, and he rose, and flung 
His arms out, saying: 

" I have fought, and slain 
The Giant." 

And she laughed, answering: 

"What then? 
He is my Giant." 

And at that, the Prince, 
Empty of words and sick with a strange fear, 
Stood wavering, while the fabric of his dream 
Dissolved around him. At the last, he said 
Foolishly, hating the sound of his own speech: 

" It is not so in any fairy tale." 
But while he spoke, the White Cat from beneath 
Cried warning; and he turned, and looking down 
Through glassy walls and floors, suddenly beheld 
The fallen Giant spring up, and rush within ; 
And the halls resounded with him, ere he came 
Upon them, howling with laughter, and upswung 
His massy mace, and with one huge blow shattered 
The King's sword, and crushed down the King's Son. 

[41] 



POEMS 

Then 

The Princess and the Giant lifted him, 

And spoiled him of his arms, and bound him fast 

With golden chains, and prisoned him far down 

In a dim dungeon underneath the moat. 

As far below the green earth as from thence 

Even to the pinnacle of the tallest tower; 

And there, barren of sense and strength, he lay. 



All day the White Cat, wandering forlorn 
Around the enchanted castle, sought in vain 
Her master; for her eyes, fitted for gloom 
Where men's eyes fail them, shrank from sun, and 

where 
The glassy fortress reared its glittering height. 
Saw neither wall nor tower nor any form 
Nor substance: only a blind golden glare 
Unbearable. But when the sun sank down 
And the lights paled, rising, and rosily 
Flushed, lingering on the battlements, and night 
Fell, she crept forward very carefully 
To the moat's edge, and looking downward, saw 
Through fathoms of wan water and clear glass 
Where he lay, chained and prisoned. At that sight. 
She raised a dolorous cry, and would have gone 
To him, but shrank back frighted at the touch 
Of the chill water. And the King's Son heard 
Her wailing through his swoon, and seemed to hear 

[42] 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY-POEM 

The Princess crying to him for help; and so 
Waking, looked up through glassy wall and floor 
To a bright banquet chamber, where the twain, 
Crowned with red gold and garlanded with flowers, 
Feasted, Princess and Giant, laughing wild 
And sporting amorously; and his own arms 
Hung with a hundred others on the wall: 
Whereto they raised their cups, and pledged each 

other, 
Embracing, and drank deep. Thereupon the Prince, 
Feeling his whole strength beaten back on him 
In one dry gust of agony, sprang, and brake 
The chains whose links fell, tinkling goldenly 
Like small bells ; and he leaped upward, and swam 
Through glassy walls and floors as a diver climbs 
Through water, labouring, and won forth, and fled 
Headlong, dishonoured and disarmed, his sword 
Gone, and his charger slain, and his dead dream 
Festering within him. Only his harp remained. 
And the dull mirror at his girdle hung. 
And the White Cat, following him silently, 
Whereof he noted nothing, but rushed on 
Through glooms odorous with drowsy blossoms, whose 

breath 
Seemed like her hair, and winds that cooled his brow 
Like her hands, and still lights that shone afar 
Most like her eyes whom he had found in vain. 
The Princess; and her face was everywhere 
Before him, beautiful with joy, and warm 

[43] 



POEMS 

With tenderness; and ever by her side 

The golden Giant grinned^, and pawed her hair 

And pinched her cheek, while she laughed up, and lay 

Surrendering. And the burden of that sight 

So bore upon him that he took no heed 

Of place or way or distance, but plunged on 

Through the void night beset with evil dreams, 

Hopeless, across the immeasurable plain. 



But when the dawn came, and a cold light spread 
Over the hills behind them, the King's Son 
Paused on a westering rise, looking behind 
Across the levels toward the light; and where 
The glassy keep had reared its glittering towers, 
Saw only emptiness and wavy lines 
Against the sunrise, like the air that swims 
Above a flame, or formless glints that fleck 
The edges of a crystal. All between 
Lay the broad valley veiled in shimmering mist 
From hill to hill. And the keen wind blew clear 
The meshes of his mind, and night and shame. 
Battle, Giant and Princess, and all else 
Bitterly remembered, for a moment seemed 
A nightmare whence awake he felt no more. 
Wondering to find himself so free from pain 
And breathing deep of rest. Then, seeing himself 
Horseless and swordless and unarmed, the weight 
Of his remembered sorrow fell again. 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY-POEM 

Yet lightlier; for that clear breath left him still 
Doubting; and with that thought, the shimmering 

mist 
That brimmed the valley overflowed, and rose 
Over him; and he turned and went on, folded 
Fathoms deep in a cool cloud, overhead 
Faint-flushed with sunrise, and beneath tinged wan 
By the green earth, and whitening all around 
So that he seemed buried in a huge pearl 
Wherethrough all things loomed formless, rock and 

tree 
Shadows, himself a shadow, and the White Cat 
A shadow upon a shadow. So he fared 
Sightless for many days, knowing not where 
Nor whither, save that the ground swelled in hills 
And sank in hollows, growing hour by hour 
Rough travelling, yet it seemed the general trend 
Led upward. And the whiteness all the while 
Wavered with wreathy shapes that fled before 
Or brushed beside him, or above leaned down 
Whispering, and plucked his sleeve and pressed him 

on. 
Bringing with them a momentary breath 
Of bloom or blush of colour. Yet he took 
Small heed of them for the increasing toil 
Of journey, and the trouble of his brain 
Unravelling all his deeds: he should have stayed 
And stabbed the fallen Giant; or escaped 
Battle, and seeking entrance by some wile, 

[45] 



POEMS 

Have slain him sleeping; or in that last bout 

Fought harder, and prevailed; or at the end 

Fallen upon them ere he fled, and slain 

Both, or himself have perished; or perchance 

If he had done some evil on the M^ay, 

Or broke some law of Faery, whence himself 

Was cursed, and his quest barren; and in all 

Lurked the arch-doubt, whether in very truth 

The princess were his Princess even so, 

Or whether having seen her in vision at first 

Gave him true right to seek and win her. So 

He toiled through clouds, following the land, nor 

cared 
Whither nor wherefore. And the White Cat ran 
A white shadow beside him, making no sign 
Of service, but went forward silently 
As one that fared by her own will. 

At length. 
Clambering a rocky slope interminable, 
He reached the height, and paused, and standing 

there 
Fronted a firm wind, and the mist fell, blown 
Asunder, and the stars shone. All around. 
Vast mountains bulked against an ebony sky 
League beyond league, crested with snow, and floored 
With sea-green pines ; as though the almighty deep. 
Heaving his foamy legions to the war 
Of the four winds, hung suddenly motionless — 
A storm in stone; and the moon, shining down 

[46] 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY-POEM 

Through ripply streams of cloud that warmed from 

pearl 
To amber around her, silvered the long swells 
Of peak and pine, and carved in jetty shade 
The forms of crag and canyon, precipice 
And fissure, gorge and ridge and chasm, and swept 
The hollow vales with mystery. And the Prince 
Gazed through crystalline space, breathing the air 
Of balsamed groves ; and his fears fell away 
Blown leeward, and his faith cleared, and his dream 
Shone forth once more new-born before him. Then, 
Far away thrilled a lilt of delicate song 
From that which, glimmering on a silvern ridge. 
Gleamed like a larger moon. And the King's Son, 
Plunging through fresh glooms of the piny dell 
And laboring up the further slope, was ware 
Of a pale palace all of glimmering ice. 
Whose domes the moon illumined, and whose walls 
The forest fringed with deepening green. Behind, 
A still lake held the clouds ; in front, the trees 
Crusted with frost, shot forth a million fires 
Of emerald and opal, tourmaline, 
Jasper and beryl; and the palace itself 
So drank the sky and paled above the lake 
And sparkled with the trees, that all its lines 
Filmed into lights and hollows without form, 
A gem folded in darkness. And while the Prince 
Hesitated, the doors moved, and there came 
Forth from its luminous halls under the sky 

[47] 



POEMS 

A snow-white Princess robed in azure and crowned 
With silver ; and her eyes were like the moon ; 
Her hair was like the midnight; and she moved 
Like starlight on a river. And she took 
His hand, and spoke his name softly, and turned 
Her face up, saying: 

" I have waited long, 
And thou hast wandered far to find me. Come — 
I weary of the stillness here." 

And he, 
Recognizing the vision of his dream. 
Yet for the memory of unhappiness 
Doubtful: 

" Hast thou in truth awaited me?" 
And while he spoke, a writhing shadow fell 
Between them, and with great wings covering the 

moon. 
Over the hills a dreadful dragon flew. 
Scaled all in venomous green like the bright scum 
That shines on stagnant water ; and his eyes, 
Lidless, flickered unsteady fires, and forth 
Out of his nostrils puffed thin wreaths of smoke. 
Folding his leathery vans, the monster swung 
To rest beside them, and his talons rasped 
The gravel. Then the Princess, with one arm 
Over his scaly crest: 

" Behold my Lord 
And Master. Therefore, if thou bear a heart 

[48] 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY-POEM 

Strong beyond common love, casting out fear, 
Follow." 

The Dragon swelled, and firelit smoke 
Puffed with his laughter. And the King's Son, all 
His heart heated with horror of such a mate, 
And all his manhood strung with danger, strode 
After them. But the White Cat bent herself 
Into a feathery arch, and fluffed her tail. 
Hissing hatred, and fled, and hid herself 
In the green lights and shadows of the trees. 
And would not enter. 

But the King's Son passed 
Through shadowy halls lit by the Dragon's eyes, 
And chilly galleries heated by his breath. 
To a high banquet-chamber where the three 
Feasted. And ever the Princess smiled on him 
Across the board, with timorous glances thrown 
Sidelong, and starry beckoning of the eyes 
Behind the Dragon, and through subtle speech 
Of nothing, words and tones promising all. 
And thrills of understanding undeclared — 
So that his dream shone out with every breath 
Stronger and lovelier; and his wonder grew 
That having lost once, he could love the more, 
Being grown wise in loving. And he burned 
To battle with the Dragon, and triumph, and bear 
All that sweet beauty home. Yet, being now 
Swordless, and for his first failure the more 

[49] 



POEMS 

Certain of death if he again should fail. 

And for the Princess watching and warning him, 

Hesitated, trusting in her. At last 

The Princess, glancing where the Dragon lay. 

His scaly length melting into the floor 

And lidless eyes flickering, murmured: 

"Sir Prince, 
Thou hast a harp. Hast thou no song to charm 
The light of lidless eyes.^" 

And the King's Son, 
Mindful at once of many a fairy tale — 
How Dragons all sleep under power of song — 
And gathering all the passion of his dream 
In one wild harmom^, his harp unslung, 
And sang across the midnight and the moon: 

" Day sinks down to rest: 
Softly falls the night; 

Star-fires glance and gleam 
On the river's breast. 
And the warm, low light 
Silvers into dream. 

" Let us drift and dream 

Here, and leave the rest, — 
Earth is ours to-night: 
Shadow lulls the gleam. 
Gathering to her breast 
The lost rays of light. 

\50} 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY-POEM 

" While behind the light 
Of thine eyes, a dream 
Wakes, and will not rest. 
Yearning to unite 

Sundered fires that gleam 
Hidden in each breast; 

" And thy breathing breast 
Falters with delight. 

And our conquering dream, 
Crowned, trembles to rest 
In the arms of night 

Till the dawn shall gleam. 

" Oh, thy hair agleam 

Over brow and breast. 
And thine eyes alight — 
Ah, to bid the dream 
Linger, and arrest 

The swift hours of night! 

" Therefore, xvhile the night 
Gathers, and stars gleam. 
Dearest, on my breast 
Lay the burden light 

Of thy head, and dream. . . . 
Close thine eyes, and rest." 

[51] 



POEMS 

And while he sang, the Princess curved herself 
Against the scaly body, one white arm 
Flung upward over the green crest, and leaned 
Her head thereon, with thrilled lips and closed eyes. 
Drinking the music. And the Dragon's breath 
Came softlier, and his wings dropped; and the flame 
In his red nostrils paled, and the sparks died 
Out of his eyes ; and the gloom deepened, save 
For moonbeams glimmering through the icy wall. 
And as the last chord rang, trembling away. 
The coils fell loosened, and the lidless eyes 
Rolled upward. Then the Princess carefully 
Slipped from his side, rising, finger on lip, 
Where the King's Son awaited her. And he, 
Wondering to have won at length his quest 
After defeat, opened his arms to her 
And whispered: 

" Thou art mine now. Therefore come 
Home to my Father's kingdom." 

But she said. 
Shuddering, and looking down: 

" I dare not." 

She seemed 
Paler than he had seen her in his dream. 
And slighter. Nevertheless, his whole heart yearned 
For wonder of her beauty ; and he caught 

[52] 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY -POEM 

Her hands, crying: 

" Have I not sung, and charmed 
The Dragon?" 

And she answered: 

" After all, 
He is my Dragon." 

And with that, the Prince, 
His dream shattering around him, and his heart 
Black with a horror beyond hope, cried out 
Heedlessly, taking no thought of his own voice: 

" Is there no truth in any fairy tale?" 
And with that word, the slumbering Dragon sprang 
Above them, breathing smoke and flame, his eyes 
Flaring blue levin, and his thunderous vans 
Volleying storm ; and out of his red throat 
Screamed one white blast of fire that seared the ice 
To vapour, and the walls burst and the floors 
Fell, and the King's Son plunged headlong, far down 
Where a black river rushed beneath the ground 
As deep under the mountains as themselves 
Reared up their craggy heads from earth to sky; 
And the waters closed above him falling, and boiled 
Around him, and the flood bore him away. 



All night the White Cat, wandering alone 
Around the enchanted palace, waited in vain 
Her master; but at dawn crept carefully 

[53] 



POEMS 

Forth to the lake, and where the palace of ice 

Had reared its glimmering walls under the moon, 

Saw only emptiness ; and a black well 

Yawned in the ground, and from beneath there came 

A sound of rushing water. And full of fear 

Yet feeling his presence there, she leaped and clomb 

Downward, wherein her eyes, fitted for gloom 

Where men's eyes fail them, caught the light, and 

showed 
Vaults of black stone where a black flood rushed on 
Unending. Then along the bank she ran 
Swiftly through subterranean dens, and caves 
Lapped full of surging water, where the day 
Brought no light; till at last, lifted on waves 
And whirled on eddies, before her the King's Son 
Drifted, senseless and drowned. And at that sight, 
She raised a dolorous cry, and where the stream 
Set shoreward, leaped and caught his shoulder, and 

clung, 
Mewing. And the King's Son, hearing her cry. 
Half waked out of his swoon, and flung blind arms 
Round that which, floating on the flood, upbore 
His head above the water. Then, presently. 
Long lights gleamed from behind, and on broad vans 
Winnowing the gloom, with eyes that glanced on wall 
And water, and hot breath poisoning the air. 
Over their heads the scaly Dragon flew. 
Skimming the wave, and where the King's Son swam, 
Dipped like the purple-crested kingfisher, 

[54] 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY -POEM 

Snatching at him, and plunged his jaws that boiled 

The stream to vapour. Then against the roar 

Of flood and fire belled out a golden clang 

Before them, and the Golden Giant ran 

Leaping along the bank, or wading in 

Smote with his mace, and howled with laughter, and 

hurled 
Huge stones. And the King's Son, by the black glare 
Along the water, saw that the floating mass 
Whereby he held his head above the stream 
Was the white princess of his vision, dead 
And ghastly, her hair shining, and her eyes 
Glassily mirroring the Dragon's. Then 
He shrieked and thrust away; but as he sank 
The White Cat clinging on his shoulder cried 
Piteously ; and he, past all desire 
Of his own life, yet lest by his own death 
The creature that alone had faith in him. 
Though helpless and unhelpful, should be slain, 
Clung again to the corpse, and swam, avoiding 
Dragon and Giant as he might. So they 
For hours beyond numbering drifted down 
The black stream through the dim cave; while above. 
The Dragon dived and clutched, and alongside 
The Golden Giant raged, and his dead dream 
Upheld him. And that horror turned his brain 
To madness, and through dreadful dreams he saw 
Dragon and Princess writhed in one foul coil 
Of white and green. Princess and Giant clasped 

[65] 



POEMS 

In a golden flame of laughter, and all at once 
Mixed in a monstrous whirl of wings and eyes 
And limbs and colours ; and he heard the hiss 
Of kisses, and the corpse whereto he clung 
Seemed now the raven Princess, now the Fair; 
And within both the vision of his dream 
Glimmered, and mocked him. Then the flame and 

roar 
Turned murmuring summer wind, and flush of dawn 
Over cool fields of billowy blossoms, fair 
With purl of brook and song of wakening bird. 
And breath of rain- washed woodland; then once 

more. 
Struggling back into sense, he saw again 
The lurid cavern and the murky flood. 
The Giant and the Dragon and the Dead, 
And the White Cat that on his shoulder clung — 
Lit by uncanny fires and swept along 
Through glooms unending, down the unrestful stream. 



Slowly as one that from the house of death 
Bitterly escaping, swims through fires of pain 
And storms of fever, and black floods of sleep, 
Till at the last his soul, returning, clears 
Faint eyes, and with a dim wonder he sees 
The strange walls of his own remembered room, 
Where the gray day, through curtains closely drawn 

[66] 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY-POEM 

Sickens the lamplight^ and the house is still — 
Even so the King's Son, gathering his soul 
And opening weary eyes, gazed listlessly 
Wondering at the strange remembered shores 
Of his own country. Over him the hills 
Paled through a mist. Behind him, the wan sea, 
Laden with heavy clouds too dull for storm. 
Plashed, and surged slowly. In front, the sallow 

fields 
Ran fading into fog, streaked with late snow 
And spongy ice ; and leafless trees held up 
A net of nakedness before the sky; 
And the air chilled without frost, and fine rain 
Fell without wind, freezing; and the whole land 
Barren and brown with desolation, lay 
Sick for the end of Winter. The King's Son 
Rose, shivering, and the White Cat, that had lain 
Close to his breast for warmth, slipped with a snarl. 
And found her feet, and yawned and spread her claws 
Shaking the wet mist from her feathery fur. 
And limped beside him. They went inland, mired 
In sodden ruts and heaps of leaden snow. 
Through the chill rain, under the darkening sky, 
Where light glowed in a cottage window. There 
The King's Son, entering, called for food and fire 
And messengers; but the goodraan, amazed 
At the strange figure strangely attended, railed 
Upon him for a madman, and thrust him forth. 
And the King's Son cursed him, and went his way, 

[57] 



POEMS 

The White Cat following, where along the road 
A troop of soldiers passed, with clash of steel 
And creak of saddle, splashing the mire, and sang 
Merrily as they went a bawdy song; 
Who, when the King's Son asked whither his way 
Led to the Palace, beat their thighs and blew 
Glad oaths and laughter, crying: 

" The Palace ! He seeks 
The Palace! He— the Palace!" 

And rode on. 
And the King's Son cursed them and went his way, 
The White Cat following, where a crowd of boys 
Ran homeward, shouting shrilly, and pushed each 

other 
Into the mire, and hurled wet clods of snow 
Laughing; but when the King's Son spoke to them, 
Huddled and whispered together, pointing, and then 
Ran past, and huddled again beyond him, and there 
Pointed and whispered. But the White Cat ran 
Before him up a hill, and snuffed the air. 
Looked back and called, and ran, and paused again; 
And the King's Son, wondering, followed her 
Up a long slope, over the ridge, and thence 
Through mire and snow and chill rain sifting down 
Out of the darkening sky, and stood amazed, 
Recognizing the i^lace of his own home ; 
But where warm lights had burned and tall towers 

frowned 
Saw only desolation, tottering walls 

[58] 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY -POEM 

Unroofed, columns discrowned, and rafters gnawed 
Naked by fire, and frozen heaps of stone — 
Black ruin. And he drew near, and sat down 
Stunned. And the White Cat, creeping to his breast 
For warmth, shivered, and the rain fell. 

At length, 
He rose, and over an angle of the wall 
Yet standing, dragged loose timbers and dead vines 
For shelter. And the White Cat, creeping in 
Nestled close, and the gray lights darkened. Then, 
Numb beyond any sorrow, the King's Son 
Looked back over his life, unravelling all 
His failure, seeing how his dream was vain: 
How joy hides from desire, and sleep evades 
Weariness, while the accursed bathe in bliss. 
And over hell hang the glad gates of heaven; 
And gathering dreary madness, lifted up 
His voice, tunelessly, and while cold winds wove 
Weird counterpoint above the melody. 
He sang across the winter and the storm: 

" Summer now is done. 
Leaf and blossom gone — 
Faded, every one: 

" All her lights withdrawn, 
And the dreams of night 
And the hopes of dawn. 

[59] 



POEMS 

" Wherefore shall I fight? 
I have won and lost 
All the world's delight, 

" And have paid the cost. 
Will the storm deprive 
Winter of her frost? 

" Wherefore shall I strive? 
Neither prize to win, 
Joy to keep alive, 

" Nor the taste of sin 
Beckons me to prove 
What may lie therein. 

" Wherefore shall I love? 
I have known the shames 
And the shifts thereof: 

" How her faiths and flames 
Are but hollow lust 
Called by sounding names. 

" Honour, pride, and trust 
Turn upon my tongue 
Into shards and dust; 

[60] 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY-POEM 

" All the dice are flung, 
All the tales are told, 
All the songs are sung — 

" Give me, being old, 
Peace from pangs begun. 
Shelter from the cold. 
Shadow from the sun — 
Summer now is done." 

And as the song closed, the White Cat, that slept 
Against him, woke hissing, and struggled free. 
Bristled and growled, with emerald eyes that glared 
Wildly upon him, then leaped forth, and fled 
Into the dusk, and vanished. And the King's Son, 
Wondering what last horror had changed him so 
To fright the creature, raised the dingy glass 
That hung still from his girdle, and therein 
Saw not himself but that which had been he, 
Starting upon his journey; and by his side. 
Beautiful as the memory of a dream 
And sweet as hope, watching him with glad eyes, 
The Princess. Day and night shadowed and shone 
Across the magic mirror; and through all. 
The vision of his dream following him 
Over the mountains and the sea, beyond 
The gates of Faery, over the meadows of dawn. 
Through the pale mist, across the moon-swept hills, 
And down the underground river, all the while 

[61] 



POEMS 

Guarding and guiding when he knew it not, 
Even to that hour. And while he gazed, between 
Memory and vision, suddenly a light fell 
Across him, and a sharp fragrance, and there, 
Lovelier than he had seen her in his dream. 
Stood his own Princess out of Fairyland 
Alive before him. Her eyes were like the dawn; 
'Her hair was like the twilight ; and she moved 
Like music over water. And the King's Son 
Gazing upon her, felt his whole heart break 
For wonder and great love. Nevertheless, 
Mindful how he had failed upon the quest 
For want of understanding, and of the truth 
Under the heart of every fairy tale — 
That every quest is but a coming home — 
And sorrowing for his last friend gone from him, 
Said wearily: 

" I know now. Thou hast come 
When all that should be thine dries out of me : 
Why not while I was worthy?" 

And she said 
Softly: 

" How could I ?" 

And with that, the Prince 
Forlorn of all that had been spoiled in him — 
Age, and gray hairs, his kingdom gone, his dream 
Dried into dust, his power wasted away — 
And shaming that such beauty should be bound 

[62] 



THE WHITE CAT: A FAIRY-POEM 

Save unto strength and freshness like her own, 
Answered : 

" I have grown old now, having seen 
How joy hides from desire to dog the steps 
Of languor. I have sought my dream, and lost 
The power of dreaming. What life I have left 
Thou hast saved. My thanks therefore ; and . . . 
farewell." 

While he had spoken, she with narrowing eyes 
And arms bent inward on her bosom, looked 
Elsewhere. At last she said: 

" Thou hast no gift 
To give me. I ask nothing. Is there none 
Thou wilt receive?" 

And the Prince answered: 

" One- 
One friend, no dream, that stood with me through all; 
That could not help, but would not hide from me ; 
Helpless, but would not fear. Now, if thou be 
Truly a princess out of Fairyland, 
Find her." 

Thereat the Princess with one cry. 
Half purr, half laughter, sprang to him, and back 
From her white throat the furry mantle flung, 
And locked her arms about him, and on his heart 
Hid her face, and sighed happily, and lay still. 

[63] 



POEMS 

And the King's Son held her, speaking no word; 
Knowing in her warm breast all fires that burn 
By happy hearths, and in her dusk of hair 
The breath of all the roses of the earth, 
And in her eyes the wonder of all dawns 
From the beginning of the world. And while 
They clung together, trembling, a sweet wind 
Blew suddenly out of the blossomy South, 
Full of a nameless joy; and the gray snows 
Bloomed, and the darkness brightened, and the clouds 
Parted, and over Winter brake the Spring. 



[e4] 



SONNETS 



IDOLATRY: THREE SONNETS 



I must forget life, ere you shall persuade 
My heart beyond it. Though at last I came 
Without hope to the horror of dark flame, 

Or among glad great angels dreamed and prayed. 

What matter? Have I not already made 

Love's own lips tremulous to breathe my name 
And seen all night the lidless eyes of shame 

Stare through the darkness where I lay afraid? 

I should yearn down from Heaven at the voice 
Of a strong child crying out angrily — 
Struggle up from Nirvana for the smell 
Of rain-sweet woods in Autumn; or rejoice 
To watch the moon rise over a dim sea, 
Lifting my head serenely out of Hell. 



[67] 



POEMS 



II 

If God should say: " From all my power to bless 
Choose thine own heaven, where the soul shall be 
Fired with white joy, or drowned in a sweet sea 

Of everlasting calm forgetfulness." 

I should make answer : " Lord, earth's images 
Of heaven are fairer; therefore leave me free — 
Make me immortal in mortality — 

Thou hast no more to give; grant me no less." 

Wonder too deep for dream; glory to blind 
The sight of angels ; agony to endure 

Beyond all sense; hate, laughter, love, and fear- 
What need for other worlds? The soul were sure, 
After innumerable lives, to find 
Ever inviolate adventures here. 



[68] 



IDOLATRY: THREE SONNETS 



III 



Lord, for no man may look upon thy face, 
I turn from seeking thee to fall before 
The forms of thy creation, and adore 

The sacred clay of thine abiding-place: 

Yea, as a lover treasureth some trace 
Of her who will not hear, so evermore 
Close to my heart I wear the golden lore 

Of beauty, gemmed with shining nights and days. 

Dost thou not laugh in every child, and brood 
In every mother? Whose joy glorifies 
The passion of new loving, and controls 
Old pain? Are not our songs half-understood 
Overtones of thy voice, and our own souls 
Images of the dream behind thine eyes ? 



[69] 



ANDANTE 

Now gently sinks the long sweet Summer day 
In blossom-breathing dimness. The sharp wings 
Of chattering swallows touch with mystic rings 

The shadowy pool. The last wide Western ray 

Glows tawny-crimson. And from far away, 

Each breeze that stirs the timorous poplar brings 
The moan of herds, the call of feathered things, 

The song and laugh of little ones at play . . . 

All beauty. Pain and passion seem as far 

From this calm spot as yon grim city, spread 
Behind the smoke-topped mountains, where the 
breast 
Of patient earth sobs to the ceaseless jar 

Of steel on stone, the clash of bells, the tread 
Of slumberless myriads. Here is only rest. 



[70 



A SCHOOLGIRL SPEAKS 

You are not like the others — that is all. 

I do not think you wonderful nor wise, 

Make you a hero in my reveries, 
Nor bend my fancy to your beck and call; 
Yet . . . when you come, there seems a veil let fall. 

And little matters brighten and surprise — 

I am afraid of something in your eyes, 
And I am glad that you are strong and tall. 

I have not given this new thing a name — 
Not even to myself. You cannot see. 

And I should hate you if I thought you knew — 
Only ... I am grown older since you came. 
Stronger, because your strength belongs to me, 
And more myself, being a part of you. 



[71] 



LOVE AND PAIN: TWO SONNETS 



I dreamed. And lo, upon a shadowy mound 
Love stood alone beneath a juniper. 
And all the light of heaven brake from her. 

Golden, and shook about her like a sound. 

Then, drawing nearer, by her side I found 
A sister-shape that ever might not stir 
From Love's left hand. Death-white her features 
were; 

Her lips were straight and scarlet, like a wound. 

I have seen a tree, against the Western light 
Nebulous with golden glory: and again. 
Graven against the gloaming, ebony-plain. 

Even so all delicate wonders, overbright 

Upon the face of Love for mortal sight, 
Were shadow-graven on the face of Pain. 



[7S] 



LOVE AND PAIN: TWO SONNETS 



II 



I cried: " Love, must it ever be thy price 
To find thee fostering this form of dread? " 
And Love looked at me with thine eyes, and said: 
" She is the shadow of a soul, that lies 

Within my light, Mistress of Mysteries. 

Face her, and find; flee her, and I am fled." 
And at the word, that phantom raised her head, 

Smiling. I saw that she too had thine eyes. 

Then while I wondered, she drew near, to lay 
Cold hands of fear upon my heart, and pressed 
Terrible lips on mine; and as the crest 
Of some dark wave shatters to shining spray. 
So my dream swelled and shattered into day — 
And Love's own self lay laughing on my breast. 



[73] 



GHOSTS 

The dead return to us continually: 

Not at the void of night, as fables feign, 

In some lone spot where murdered bones have lain 

Wailing for vengeance to the passer-by; 

But in the merry clamour and full cry 

Of the brave noon, our dead whom we have slain 
And in forgotten graves hidden in vain, 

Rise up and stand beside us terribly. 

Sick with the beauty of their dear decay 
We conjure them with laughters onerous 
And drunkenness of labour ; yet not thus 
May we absolve ourselves of yesterday — 
We cannot put those clinging arms away. 
Nor those glad faces yearning over us. 



[74] 



" HAEC OLIM MEMINISSE . . ." 

There is a Summer stillness everywhere. 
Under the woven pines my Lady lies 
Dreaming, with childlike lips, and mysteries 

Of light and shadow moving in her hair. 

Her faith hangs over us and thrills the air, 
And the trees know it, and the butterflies 
Flash it across the sunbeams. In her eyes 

Unspoken gladness gathers like a prayer. 

Dear, in the twilight of our happiness, 
After the flame and struggle of the day. 

We shall look back sweetly on hours like these: 
Not seared into our hearts by any stress. 

But sealed with Love's own seal, and laid away 
Within the starlit treasuries of Peace. 



[75] 



SOMNAMBULA 

She fills her hours with fantasy, to keep 

The great hour silent: blossom-loves that fall 
Unmourned, pleasures of labour prodigal, 

And careless woes eager for tears to weep — 

Ripples on the unfathomable deep, 

Flashing with foam and sunshine, musical 
With lisping reeds and prattling shallows — all 

Busily alive; and all that life one sleep. 

Laughter, and merry memories, and sweet breath 
Of days made rich by many a brief desire — 
These are her dreams. Their glimmering veils 
are drawn 
Where (O, tread softly!) herself hides beneath. . . . 
Hush ! . . . Woman, with her soul of song and fire, 
Slumbering quietly before the dawn. 



[76] 



FROM LIFE 

Her thoughts are like a flock of butterflies. 

She has a merry love of little things 

And a bright flutter of speech, whereto she brings 
A threefold eloquence — voice, hands, and eyes. 
Yet under all a subtle silence lies, 

As a bird's heart is hidden by its wings, 

And you shall search through many wanderings 
The Fairyland of her realities. 

She hides herself behind a busy brain: 

A woman, with a child's laugh in her blood, 
A maid, wearing the shadow of motherhood, — 
Wise with the quiet memory of old pain. 
As the soft glamour of remembered rain 
Hallows the gladness of a sunlit wood. 



[77] 



A PORTRAIT 

Mother and maid and soldier, bearing best 
Her girl's lithe body under matron gray, 
And opening new eyes on each new day 

With faith concealed and courage unconfessed; 

Jealous to cloak a blessing in a jest. 
Clothe beauty carefully in disarray, 
And love absurdly, that no word betray 

The worship all her deeds make manifest: 

Armoured in smiles, a motley Britomart — 

Her lance is high adventure, tipped with scorn; 
Her banner to the suns and winds unfurled. 
Washed white with laughter; and beneath her heart, 
Shrined in a garland of laborious thorn, 

Blooms the unchanging Rose of all the World. 



[78] 



ARS LONGA 

Not thy great gif ts^ O God ! I would not be 

The prophet honoured in an alien clime; 

Or send my name trumpeting down through time, 
Selling my manhood for a memory. 
So should I fade into the shows of me: — 

My joy become the reason of a rhyme, 

My pain, a figure in the pantomime, 
My love, a light over an unknown sea. 

Give me but what thou givest all mankind: 
A little faith in that I labour for, 

A friend whose name I daily think to bless, 
A woman in whose eyes I seek and find. 
Children mysteriously mine — no more 
Than common, ordinary happiness. 



[79] 



APRIL NOON 

Silence. Faint warmth of the awakening sun 

Drowned in pale light. The meadows lapse away- 
Ridges of brown and slopes of sallow gray — 

To where the leafless hills are dusky-dun. 

Earth holds her breath, and waits while slowly run 
The ordered hours in pitiless delay; 
Fearing the vanished snows of yesterday, 

Nor daring yet to deem the Summer won. 

As a sick woman from the house of death 
But newly ransomed, overweak to care 

For life renewed and love made warm again, 
Faints slowly back to life with each calm breath. 
Finding a joy almost too keen to bear 
Only in this, that there is no more pain. 



[80 



FOR THE CENTENARY OF SAMUEL 
JOHNSON 



FOR THE CENTENARY OF SAMUEL 
JOHNSON 

When the slow cycle of a hundred years 
Out of the dark some golden date uprears 
Whose casual numbers form a spell to raise 
Dead virtues up amid appointed praise, 
Conjure huge ghosts out of their gorgeous gloom 
And lay brief wreaths on some immortal tomb, — 
How many celebrants completely know 
What acts deserve the homage they bestow? 
How many of the multitudes who throng 
To laud the Singer, that have heard the song? 
Or, while they hail the Artist's deed supreme. 
Dwell with him in the beauty of his dream? 
The leaders of the hour — a few at most — 
Honour a man: the people praise a ghost. 
Theirs not to ask what made the holiday — 
The priest proclaims; the worshippers obey: 
From mouldering shrines the festal fires arise. 
And unknown gods are throned in alien skies; 
Forgotten deeds their sires commemorate, 
And names remembered prove their bearers great. 

[83] 



POEMS 

So we to-night raise monumental breath 
To works already crumbling into death^ 
Pay each unopened tome a generous meed — 
Delight to honour, and decline to read. 
Who rambles with the Rambler} Who hath power 
To invoke the Idler for an idle hour, 
Thread the great Lexicon's laborious mass, 
Or wrestle in the waste with Rasselas} 
Yet ... we do well. Smile as we may on those 
Who praise immortal works that no one knows, 
We need not bear that charge, who celebrate 
No man ephemeral whom his deeds made great — 
No Artist, whose dominion and control 
End with his work — we celebrate a soul. 
Johnson has been and is : here stands his pride — 
A spirit living whose exploits have died. 

Have you not known some friend whom but to see 
Was Faith, whose silence was Philosophy, 
Whose presence Love — yet bore a common fate 
And did no deed of those which men call great? 
In whom all powers burned but could not shine — 
A poet, though he never wrote a line, 
A general whose wars were all a jest, 
A prince whose kingdom was the passing guest, 
A saint at heart, who loved the homely strife 
And gay sins of an ordinary life — 
Who wore his human frailties like a crown. 
Whose humour kept his colder virtues down 

[84] 



CENTENARY OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 

Lest they should leave the kindly earthy and rise 

Snow-peaked to the discomfortable skies? 

On such men's graves no formal blooms are flung — 

They live unheralded and die unsung; 

Nor can our words their secret worth convey 

To light the darkness of a later day. 

Yet there is little need. Their lives live on 

Beyond all fame that genius might have won. 

They dwell in us^ to whom their frequence lent 

A Being greater than Accomplishment, — 

A joy in joy J, a strength to stand unawed 

Before the storms of pain, a proof of God. 

So much the virtue of a soul proceeds 
More from itself than from its actual deeds ; 
So much the giver is the gift's best worth — 
The man more potent than his work on earth — 
That legendary kings deserve their fame 
But by a breath, tradition, and a name. 
Great men their eulogists immortalize, 
And shine reflected in unbodied eyes. 
So we discover that Athenian Sage 
Not on his own but on another's page. 
And by this tribute read his wisdom clear: 
That Plato stooped to be his chronicler. 
And so with Johnson. Though his works be dust, 
His words dim with unconquerable rust. 
The man lives on — a legend and a face 
Stamped on the coinage of our English race. 

[85] 



POEMS 

What though his windmill foes be all o'erthrown? 

His heart still fights with dragons in our own. 

What though great friends his lustre overdim? 

He lived with giants, and they honored him. 

Still on the vast horizon of the years, 

Over the kneeling radiance of his peers, 

His craggy figure towers : quaint, uncouth, 

A savage bravery of homely truth, 

A courage stumbling on through toil and pain, 

A clumsy humour, and a clean disdain, — 

A cloudy pillar of sustained desire 

Which, when the gloom o'erwhelmed it, turned to fire; 

An Ursa Major, wheeling round the pole 

Outlined in stars, and every star a soul — 

Souls of less worth more visibly expressed 

Whose light keeps the great shadow manifest. 

Not only those who dwell in ancient days 
To Johnson's name pay veritable praise; 
Not only they whose learning holds by heart 
The musty worthiness his words impart — 
We, like blind mirrors, hold his image clear. 
And in strange tongues bid the brave ghost appear. 

October, 1909. 



[86] 



SONGS 



A MAN-CHILD'S LULLABY 

Little groping hands that must learn the weight of 
labour, 
Little eyes of wonder that must learn to weep ; 
Mother is thy life now: that shall be to-morrow — 
Time enough for trouble — time enough for sorrow — 
Now . . . sleep. 

Little dumb lips that shall wake and make a woman. 
Little blind heart that shall know the worst and 
best; 
Mother is thy love now: that shall be hereafter — 
Time enough for joy, and time enough for laughter — 
Now . . . rest. 

Little rosy body, new-born of pain and beauty, 

Little lonely soul new-risen from the deep; 
Mother is thy world now, whole and satisfying — 
Time enough for living — time enough for dying — 
Now . . . sleep. 



[89] 



AMULETS 

Out of the dark, your eyes. 

Beckoning far and fair. 
Under whose laughter gleams 
A witchery of dreams — 

A fantasy of prayer — 
Making new hopes arise 
Out of the dark . . . your eyes ! 

Out of the storm, your voice, 

Bidding the sea be still. 
Warm with the kindly mirth 
And honesty of earth. 

Rousing my strength to will. 
And struggle, and rejoice 
Out of the storm . . . your voice! 

Out of the world, your heart. 
Waiting to call me home — 

A beautiful calm place 

Wherein to hide my face 

Awhile from flame and foam. 

Feeling all pain depart 
Out of the world . . . your heart ! 



[90] 



SONG 

Dear^ though you wander over peace and passion^ 

Searching the days to prove yourself untrue, 
You cannot hide me. Still, in my own fashion, 
I shall come back to you. 

In other eyes, on lips that bid you doubt me, 

In music, in the little things we knew. 
In your blind prayers for happiness without me — 
I shall come back to you. 

God keep you safe through all the ache of learning. 

Through all the wrong you need to be and do. 
Till in the wise joy of unf earful yearning 

I shall come back — I shall come back to you! 



[91] 



MOTHER OF MEN 

Mother of Men^ grown strong in giving 
Honour to them thy lights have led; 

Rich in the faith of thousands living, 
Proud of the deeds of thousands dead — 

We who have felt thy power, and known thee. 
We in whose work thy gifts avail, 

High in our hearts enshrined enthrone thee, 
Mother of Men— Old Yale ! 

Spirit of youth, alive, unchanging, 

Under whose feet the years are cast; 

Queen of an ageless empire, ranging 
Over the future and the past — 

Thee, whom our fathers loved before us, 
Thee, whom our sons unborn shall hail. 

Praise we to-day in sturdy chorus. 
Mother of Men— Old Yale ! 

New Haven, 1909. 



[9^] 



A MAN'S SONG 

Sweetheart, love me dearly — 

Why need you struggle so ; 
Keep the kiss you mean for me. 

Hide the heart I know? 
All your truth and purity 

Into love are grown — 
Sweetheart, love me dearly 

While to-day's our own ! 

Sweetheart, love me truly, 

And all good dreams are true- 
Life and death are little things 

In the light of you. 
Only let your wonderings 

Keep me strong and sure — 
Sweetheart, love me truly 

While our days endure. 



[93] 



A WOMAN'S SONG 

Glad and fair is my young love, 

He to whom my pulses move, 
He whose pleasure I obey — 
Glad as dawn, and fair as day. 

Very strong and sweet is he 

That hath lordship over me — 
He to whom I all am given — 
Strong as death, and sweet as heaven. 

Mary Mother, grant me this 

Only, out of all thy bliss: 
Let his longing never tire — 
(He whose lips are ice and fire — ) 
Make me worth his whole desire ! 



[H] 



A ROBIN'S SONG 

Wake^ Pretty One, wake ! 
The morn comes over the mountain; 
Tenderly, gaily, the swift, sweet breeze 
Kisses the dew from the trembling trees ; 

Day's ready to break — 

Wake, Pretty One, wake! 

Sing, Pretty One, sing! 
The violet blooms by the fountain ; 
Under the cool of the hawthorn spray, 
Sunlight and shadowlet dance and play; 

Love, love's on the wing — 

Sing, Pretty One, sing! 

Rest, Pretty One, rest! 
The sun sinks under the mountain; 
Mother-bird night, with her warm wings furled, 
Broods o'er the dusk of the sleeping world; 

Safe under her breast 

Rest, Pretty One, rest! 



[95] 



AN OLD SONG 

When all the winds are mellow in the glad Spring- 
time, 
And bank and fell and fallow blossom-laden, 
When every breath's a song, and every laugh like 
rhyme — 
Sing hey, the day for youth to meet a maiden ! 
Then out amid the morning. 
Let Wisdom waste her warning — 
We'll laugh, Dear Heart, and sing. Dear Heart, 
through all the golden day ! 
Red lips are such a treasure 
As only love can measure. 
When all the world is merry in the month of May ! 

When all the dark is hollow, and the wind blows 
cold. 
And down the West the tawny sun is sinking; 
When every word is wise, and every heart grows 
old,— 
Sing ho, the night's a noble time for drinking ! 
Then drown the wizard Sorrow! 
To-night from death we borrow — 
We'll laugh, good friends, and quaff, good friends, 
until the dawn of day ! 

Let song and wine remind us 
Of loves we left behind us. 
When all the world was merry in the month of May ! 

[96] 



SONG 

The skies are dimly bright, Love, 
The stars like pulses beat 

That falter with delight, Love, 

And the breeze is maddening-sweet- 
The breeze is maddening-sweet ! 

Borne soft along its way, 
The sighs of sleepy flowers 
From bowers to dusky bowers 

Its laden wings delay. 

The world is hushed in shade. Love, 

And shadowed all my heart; 
This night for us was made. Love, . . 

And we so far apart — 

And we so far apart ! 
Unheeded on my ear 

The folded whispers fall — 

In vain the shadows call, 
Because thou art not here. 



[97] 



SONG 

I know a bower sweet and shy, 

Where glooms a stream 
Beneath cool films of leaf and sky- 
Where river-lilies lie and dream; 
Where very quietly 
Small birds make melody, 
And everjT^ breeze on tiptoe comes and goes- 
To that dim bower that no one knows — 
My bower of peace that no one knows ! 

I know a heart unwisely dear, 

Where blooms a joy 
That never doubt may venture near, 
Nor any barren fear destroy; 
That poureth over me 
Child-sweetness wondrously, 
And dareth wholly unto me disclose 
That gentle heart that no one knows — 
Dear heart of peace that no one knows ! 



[98] 



TOGETHER 

Glory of a golden light over vale and hill, 
Daisy-fields a-bending to the swift wind's will, 

Summer-sweet in every breath, a bird on every 
spray, — 

And it's you and I together. Dear, the livelong day ! 

Wonder of a misty moon high above the wood, 
Glamour in the valley and our own hearts' blood. 
All the breathing dark alive with murmurs of 

delight, — 
And it's you and I together. Sweet, the livelong 
night ! 

Win a world or lose a world — peace or weary strain, — 
Summer dawn of joy, or Winter dusk of pain — 
Every time I think of you, it's like a lilt of song. 
For it's you and I together. Love, a whole life long ! 



[99] 



ROSA MUNDI 

In a garden glad and green 
Blooms a rose unknown, unseen, 
Ruby-bosomed like a flame, 
Holy, like a holy name — 
All the world have part and right 
In the garden's rich delight: 
Each may gather all he knows . . . 
I alone have known the Rose. 

Through a world of waste and wrong 
Floats a benison of song. 
Pouring on the multitude 
All their souls can bear of good; 
Giving them who know and care 
Beauty, laughter, pain, and prayer — 
Each his own realities . . . 
Mine the Singer's lips and eyes. 



[100 



THE MOON-PATH 

Fair and afar and aflame in the sky, 

Over the tide, 
Glimmers the great moon calm and high — 

The golden sign of my heart's desire — 
Never the nearer, though I stand 
Without faith on the lip of the land, 
Or follow, follow her endlessly 
Over the heaving gloom of the sea — 
Over the weary sea — 
Over the sea. 

Cold and aloof and alone in the sky 

Let her bide. 
Pouring her beauty down from on high — 
A river of rest for the heart's desire — 
A golden pathway flowing to meet 
The lone quest of my faltering feet. 
And carry, carry me endlessly 
Over the dream-dark, wonderful sea — 
Over the foam-bright sea — 
Over the sea. 



[101] 



OFFERINGS 

If I could sing as no man ever sang — 
Find the red heart of that unspoken lore 
That all sweet sound is only hunger for, — 

If I might call the moonlight on the sea, 
The river-lily's dream, the soul of dew, 

To lead the voices of my harmony, 

I should have songs, O Love, to sing to you. 

If I could love as no man ever loved — 
The seeking of the girl unsatisfied. 
The passion of the bridegroom for the bride, 

The mother's wonder in her newborn son. 

The boy's fresh rapture in his life come true- 

If I might compass all these loves in one, 
I should have love, O Love, to bring to you. 



[102 



SONG 

Only a little while since first we met. 

And soon the sea, with many a weary mile, 
Shall sever us forever, Sweet . . . and yet. 
Will it be very easy to forget ? — 
Only a little while! 

Only a little while that I may claim 

The whole soul's breath of you without denial. 
And see your eyes grow golden with a flame 
That is not Love, yet hath no other name — 
Only a little while! 

Only a little while to use my art 

So that some day you may look back, and smile 
Out of a joy wherein I have no part 
On that old self of yours that filled my heart 
Only a little while! 



[103] 



SONG 

The clouds are drifting drowsily. 

The sea drinks in the sun. 
And it's O for the dawn that is dead and gone, 

And the deeds I might have done — 

Brave deeds I might have done ! 

The waning moon is red and low. 

The slow wind brings the rain. 
And it's O for the night of dear delight 

That shall not be again — 

That cannot be again ! 

The crawling mists are cold and white. 

The lights are blank and gray. 
And it's O for command of heart and hand 

To do my work to-day — 

Only my work to-day! 



[104] 



ABSENCES 

Dawn-light and bird-song and trees against the blue — 
All the lights of heaven^ Dear, are fair because of 
you! . . . 
But now the fields are sallow, and all the skies are 

gray; 
Empty of the sight of you to light love's way. 

Hearth-light and home-song, and voices by the fire, 
Merry with your mirth. Dear, and warm with your 
desire. . . . 
But now the house is hollow, and all the fires are 

chill; 
Barren of the joy of you to wake love's will. 

Come to me, bring back to me the heart of day and 

night. 
The body of all beauty, and the soul of all delight ! — 
Sunbeam and star-shine, roses after rain. 
The colour and the melody, the laughter and the 

pain. 
And all my life alive in me to hold you close again ! 



[105] 



MORVEN AND THE GRAIL 



MORVEN AND THE GRAIL 



Angels of the Grail 

Morven! . . Morven! . . Morven! . . 
Blood and Water, 

Water and Wine, 
World without end: three signs, one wonder- 
Follow the Vision, — 
Follow the Grail! 



Morven, 
seafaring 
upon the 
quest of 
the Grail, 
heareth the 
Angels 
thereof 
calling 
unto him: 



Morven 

Blood of the sunset 

Adown the dark water, 
Wine of the wind, sweeping 

Onward, Westward, 
Herding the numberless 
Rush of foam-flinging 

Surges homeward 
Whither we follow 
Over the golden 

Floors of sundown: 
One way together 

Westward wending — 
The sweep of the wind. 
The weight of the wave. 
The leap of the sail. 

And the swing of the oar. 



and unll 
follow the 
world's 
dream, even 
unto the end 
of the world. 



[109] 



POEMS 

One way, the sun's way, 

Onward, Westward, 
From dawn to noonday 
From noon to even, 

From darkness to darkness; 
One way, the soul's way, 

Out of the darkness 
For one day only. 
Westward, onward. 
Alone down the gloaming. 

Into the darkness. 

One dream, the world's dream 

Alone we follow, 
O my wanderers. 
My strong companions, — 

Follow the holy 
Angel-guarded 

Vision, the golden 

Grail, that shineth 

Eternal, Immortal; 
Onward, Westward, 

Heavenward, homeward, 

Follow the Vision — 
Follow the Grail! 



[110] 



MORVEN AND THE GRAIL 



Chorus: In Avalon 



Hither, O hither and rest ! On the broad sea's billowy 
bosom, 
Avalon, bride of the West, smiles in the arms of Hecomethto 

the island 
the foam ; Avalon, the 

Balm of warm noon, drowsy bird, and awakening ^^^^^^^Jf. 

blossom, «^^ *^^«^e for 

Charm the tremulous air, welcome the wanderer abidethin 
home. ^^^^^• 

Here, over meadows of endless May, the drifting 
clouds of a downy whiteness 
Gleam, and the sunbeam follows the shadow under 
the bloom of purple skies; 
Here the wild moon crowns the mountains, drowning 
the gloom in a bath of brightness 
Perfumed with paradise. 

We have forgotten your tears. Will ye feed im- 
possible yearning 
With young years, and fight hungrily, proud of 
your pain? 
Come unto us, and discover the old sweet beauty 
returning 
Beauty, desire to delight, lover to lover again ! 



[Ill] 



POEMS 

Knights grown weary of hopeless honour, ladies fain 
of ungathered flowers, 
Saints unkissed, and sages dry of wine, and singers 
barren of song — 
Learn the joy ye long for, join the dance of the rosy- 
footed hours, 

Laughing our days along. 



Song of Sigurd the Volsung 



But hearing 
in his heart 
as it ivere 
the voice of 
young 
Sigurd 
riding forth 
against the 
Dragon, he is 
aivare hoio 
man may 
not content 
him forever 
in sweet joy; 



The gold of the morning 

Shines on my shield, 
Her jewels adorning 
The sword that I wield; 
Clear of light and clean of breath- 
Here's a day for life or death ! 
For war without warning 
By forest and field. 

For maidenhood sleeping 

By fire girded round. 

For wealth of the creeping 

Worm underground; 

Thank the gods, who gave the same 

To the dragon and the flame. 

That gaining and keeping 

A man may be found ! 

[112] 



MORVEN AND THE GRAIL 

Then smite hard and spare not, 

Foeman unknown ! 
I fear not, I care not, 

Mine arm is mine own. 
God nor man that hears my horn, 
Troll nor monster mountain-born, — 

Shall dare what I dare not, 
Till one be o'erthrown! 

MoRVEN 

Let me go hence! . . 

I have hungered and thirsted 

Overlong in your Avalon. 
Here is no heaven — 

The Grail is not here ! 

Chorus 
Is there another j oy than j oy ? O lover of sorrow, and of the 



Gh'ail also, 
even the 



Surely our lips and eyes answer thine own, and are 

sweet ! desire of the 

soul that is 
not in 
Avalon. 
Wherefore, 

To, in my heart despite them 

Heard I one singing ^f ^^'^^ *\ 

° ° stay him, he 



MoRVEN 



Of youth war-hardy, departeth 

out of that 
heaven. 
Glad against fear. 



Pure of pleasure, 
t fe 

[113] 



POEMS 

Chorus 

Out of the arms of to-day let not the wanton to- 
morrow 
Lure thee away with lies. Fool, in what land shall 
ye meet? 

MORVEN 

And I said, beholding 

Beauty that breedeth 

Barren roses, 
And love unfought for, 
A flower without fruit — 

How shall I make me 
An end of manhood 

To lie unavailing, 

Unwarlike, unworthy. 
Steeped in sweet? 

Chorus 

No more. There is no home but here, nor ever was, 
nor shall be forever. 
Over our stars forbidden heavens, under our 
flowers forgotten hells 
Warn in vain; before and beyond, the wind's unrest 
and the sea's endeavour 

Dream, and shall find naught else. 

[lU] 



MORVEN AND THE GRAIL 

MORVEN 

I will go in might 

As a man_, wayfaring 
Whither the brave blood 

Poured for sword-swing 
Riseth again 

As the rain returning 

Sunward, and turneth 
To wine poured forth 

Before heroes in heaven. 
Thither will I too 

Fare and follow 

Beyond the world's end, 

Over the rainbow, 
Onward, upward. 
Heavenward, homeward. 

Follow the Vision — 
Follow the Grail ! 

Chorus: In Valhalla 

To Valhall, O Stranger, 
Drink deep, and be cheered 

For days of thy danger 
And ways of thy weird. 

Ere the war-maidens bore us 
The heroes high-vaunting, 

[115] 



POEMS 



Tlien cometh 
he to 

Valhalla of 
the Old Gods, 
the heaven 
of stark 
manhood; 
and there 
abideth in 
glory for a 
time. 



Stout sons of the sword — 
With the great ones before us 
To ride to the hunting, 
And feast at the board. 
By the field, by the foam, 
Where our hearts were not wanting, 
Where our force did not fail — 
We have won our reward. 

We are crowned, we are come, 
To Valhalla our home. 
Waes Haell 



To our brothers who fought us, 

Good welcome again ! 
Your manhood first taught us 

We also were men. 
By our wars without hate. 

By our wounds without shame, 
By our death without fear — 
Hand in hand, mate by mate. 
Pledge our fellowship here. 
For the love of the game. 

The strong arm that defends 

Till a stronger prevail. 
The high deeds, the hard ends. 
To our foemen, our friends, 
JVaes Hael! 



[116] 



MORVEN AND THE GRAIL 

To our grim gods, who drained us 

Of sorrow and joy; 
Disowned us, disdained us, 
Till all that remained us 
Ye could not destroy: 
By the hammer of doom, 
By the flame of desire, 
By the flood of despair — 
Ye have forged us a pride 
Either side of the tomb. 

Undismayed here as there. 
For the gloom and the fire. 
For our woe, for our worth 
Before heaven and earth. 

Pour once more the brown ale ! — 
To the gods we defied. 
Face to face, open-eyed, 
Waes Hael! 

Hymn of Saint Cecilia 

Let my sorrow. Lord, 

Seek thy breast; 
Never, but for thee, 

Faint or fear — 
Till I find my rest. 

My reward. 
Folded in thy dear 

Purity. 

[117] 



POEMS 



But hearing 
in his soul as 
it were the 
voice of 
Saint Cecilia 
hymning 
Christ her 
Lord, he is 
aivare how 
man may not 
content him 
forever in 
triumph; 



Never let me weep 

Any more — 
Only lay my soul 

In thy hand; 
Only as before 

Fall asleep. 
Making thy command 

My control. 



Close the world away 

From my sight; 
Let the legions move, — 

Lovers cling, — 
Hidden in the night ; 

While the day 
Owns but thee, one King 

And one Love. 



MORVEN 

Let me go hence! . . 
Lo, in my soul 

Have I heard one singing 
Of faith white-hearted. 
Holy in sorrow. 

Lowly in prayer. 



[118] 



MORVEN AND THE GRAIL 



And I said, remembering 

Pride that drinketh 
Bitter water 

And power unbridled^ 
A fire without food- 
How shall I make me 

An end of wonder 
To vaunt in Valhalla 
Unhumbled, unhallowed — 

The Grail is not there ! 



and the 
Grail also, 
even the 
desire of the 
soul that is 
not in 
Valhalla. 
Wherefore 
he departeth 
out of that 
heaven. 



I will go in my sins 

As a pilgrim, seeking 
Whither the tears 

Of the world, forever 
Calm with forgiveness. 
Flow like a shining 
River of peace 

Before Christ in heaven; 
And beneath Him, around Him, 
Glad golden angels, 
Grave-eyed like children, 
Cast their crowns down 
By the fountain, crying: 

Holy, Holy, Holy. 



[119] 



POEMS 

Thither will I too 
Fare and follow 
Through the silence — 

Beyond the shadow — 
Onward^ upward^ 

Heavenward^ homeward. 

Follow the Vision — 

Follow the Grail ! 



Chorus: In Paradise 

Golden with hearts of gold thine everlasting city — 
Rainbow-bright with jewels, and every gem 
soul — 

Hosanna ! The Lord above 
Reigneth as a lord of love — 
Hosanna ! the Lord of might that is Lord of pity 
Buildeth of broken things the glory and the goal ! 



We have sinned and turned away our faces 



Then cometh 
he among the 
Saints in 
Paradise, 

the heaven of From the light we could not call our own; 
Father, thou hast sought in lonely places 
For thy children, gathered us and crowned us 



holiness; 
and there 
abideth his 
time in 

Peace. With the peace that blooms about thy throne. 



[1^0] 



MORVEN AND THE GRAIL 

We have sorrowed where our fears confound us 

And the clouds return after the rain; 
Saviour^ for thy death we feel around us 
Arms departed, hear forgotten voices, 
And the eyes we saw weep, smile again. 

We have dreamed; by fitful flames, and noises 

Of the night, we fought and labored long; 
Spirit, in thy mystery rejoices 
The lost heart of dreams, the purer glory 
Shining at the end of every story — 
Calling at the close of every song. 



Therefore with angels, with Cherubim and Seraphim, 
With all who shall follow and all who went before, 
Hosanna ! The King of Kings 
Hath compassed His imaginings ! 
Hosanna! We praise Him and magnify His name; 
to Him 
The Kingdom and the power and the glory ever- 
more! 



[m] 



POEMS 



But hearing 
in his spirit 
as it were 
Our Lady 
communing 
with her 
Child neio- 
born into the 
world, he is 
aware how 
man may not 
content him 
forever at 
rest; 



Lullaby of Our Lady 

I have dreamed of strange things 
This night. Lo, they are gone— 
The voices, and great wings. 
And the three kneeling kings — 
Leaving me here alone 

Now all is done 
With this that is mine own. . . 
The Man, my Son. 

Master, thy high commands ! . . 

Must we put forth to bless 
Unfathomed seas, far lands. 
These little angry hands .^ — 
Will earthquake and eclipse 

Claim, and confess 
Those little hungry lips 
Of helplessness? 



Ah, hush, then! . . Take no heed 
Of prophecy nor sign. 
While I am all thy need 
Though thou be God indeed. 
What matter less or more. 

Human, divine? — 

Never was born before 

A babe like mine. 



[12^] 



MORVEN AND THE GRAIL 

Morten 

Let me go hence ! . . 

Prayer and praise 

Have I proven in Paradise; 

The Grail only 

Beheld I never 
In any heaven. 

For lo, even now, 
Even here, my spirit 
Heard one singing 
Of life new-born 
Unto hope and hunger 

Adventure, endeavour; 
And I said, understanding 
The eyes of children. 
The lips of women. 
The hands of men — 
I will go down 

Out of rest forever 
For love of the world 

To the world again. 

I will go as a babe 

That is born, as a soul sent 
Forth from before God 
Bathed in forgetfulness 



and of the 
Grail also, 
even the 
desire of the 
so^d that is 
not in 
Paradise, 
neither to be 
found in any 
place, but 
rather 
folloived 
through all. 
Wherefore 
he will 
depart out 
of that 
heaven, to be 
horn again 
and become 
as a little 
child. 



[123] 



POEMS 

To wonder and wander 
Through pain and beauty, 
Laughter and labour 

And shame, unendingly, 
Knowing and growing. 

One way, the world's way, 

The sun's way, the soul's way- 
Day after day 

From the deep rearisen. 
The same, yet another. 

Westward wending 
From dawn to noon 

From noon to even 
From even to dawn. 
One dream, God's dream 

That no man knoweth 

Never to find 

Forever to follow — 
The unbeholden 

Glory, the gleam 

Above all heavens 

Beyond all horizons — 
Earthward, downward 

Outward, onward. 
Follow the wonder — 

Follow the Grail ! 



MORVEN AND THE GRAIL 

Angels of the Grail 

Morven! . . Morven! . . Morven! . . 
Blood and water 

Water and wine 
Life, death, and life, three dreams, one waking- 
Behold the vision — 
Behold the Grail! 



From His throne alone and afar 

In the night before light began, 
The Lord let fall a star 

Into the heart of the sea. 
And a ripple arose and ran 

Spreading eternally 
In glimmering rings that roll 

Over the dark of the sea, 
As the ripple of years that flow 
Over the dark of the soul — 

Circles of weal and woe 
Widening evermore, 

With hell in the gulf below 
And heaven where shadows move 
To the shore that is no shore. 
And in the light thereof 

Are all things written plain ; 
For the name of the sea was Love 

And the name of the star was Pain. 



Thereupon 
the heavens 
are opened 
unto him, 
and he 
beholdeth in 
a vision the 
Grail and 
the Angels 
thereof sing- 
ing of the 
mystery of 
God's crea- 
tion: how 
man shall 
not cease hut 
through light 
and dark- 
ness, love 
and pain, 
death and 
birth, live on 
between Hell 
and Heaven 
in ^vonder 
everlasting. 



\n5 



POEMS 

And the Lord lifted up 

Gold of the star that fell, 
And fashioned a golden cup 

Thereof, and blent therein 
Wine that was poured in hell 

To waken the heart of sin; 
Water from streams that rise 

Where weary angels win 
Heaven, and fall asleep; 

And blood of sacrifice 
Burned for old gods that weep 

Forgotten. And the Lord 
Blessed the cup, and drank deep 

And set it for a sign 
In the West, and spoke a word. 

Saying: " This blood is mine: 
Let him who hungereth 

Drink/' And he called the wine 
Life, and the water Death. 

And over the face of the world 

Fly, as the shadow flies 
Where a pillar of smoke is whirled 

Away on the wind, the desire 
Of Man, and the joy of his eyes: 
A pillar of cloud, and a fire 
Burning beneath, and above 

Veils that resolve and retire 

[1S6] 



MORVEN AND THE GRAIL 

Into the lights and are gone: 

And under the shadow thereof, 
Hope awake in the dawn 

And Faith as a bird that sings 
In the dark, and Love withdrawn, — 

Follow, and shall not fly 
Beyond the beginning of wings. 

Man shall environ the sky 
And the sea in the mist of his breath ; 

In the dust of his deeds he shall lie 
Down, and deny his worth, 

Falling from death to death — 
Rising from birth to birth 

Where the wind of his dream is driven- 
In Hell as it is on earth. 

On earth as it is in Heaven. 



Chorus: On Earth 

Children of men, march on 
Beyond the veil, nor fear 
An end of any beauty now begun; 
Seeing how all that longs from nothingness 

Into desire proclaims 
No heaven but to be more, no hell but to be less 
Than ye have held most dear. 
Therefore dread not to find your ancient flames 



And foras- 
much as God 
of His own 
heart so 
imagineth 
all things 
that they die 
and rise 
again, there- 
fore shall the 
earth declare 
the glory of 
God, world 
without end. 



[127] 



POEMS 

Faint in the radiance of a purer sun; 
Or at the shrine of human passion, praise 
Unwelcome gods, unwillingly adored 
By strange, cold, holy names. 
Ye shall not find them. Many are my ways; 
My will is one, 
Saith the Lord. 

He that hath eyes to see, 
Let him behold the tide's eternity, 
Under the sway of the moving moon. 
Through the huge pulse of ocean swell and swoon. 
Changing unchangingly; 
He that hath ears to hear. 
Hearken the birth-cry of the dying year. 
When out of nakedness and frozen stone 

Laughs rearisen spring. 
Glorified in sweet green and sunlit gold. 
With breath of wild virginity, and tune 

Of marriage-merry birds that sing 
The coming of the bridegroom to his own 

Once more, even as of old ; 
And he that hath a heart to understand 

Feel hour by hour the crown of his reward 
Melt from his brow and harden in his hand 

Into a stronger sword: — 
Nor doubt nor dream of narrower destinies 
Than to return beneath yet undiscovered skies, 
Risen again as the day riseth again, 

[128] 



MORVEN AND THE GRAIL 

Reborn as the year is reborn — 
Not in some alien heaven prisoned in vain 

Where that which hath been man is put to scorn; 
But as a traveller may come 
With old love and new eyes 
To the wonder of his home. 

Children of earth, dream on 
Beyond your heaven, and dare 
Choose your own gold wherewith ye shall be 
crowned ; 
Seeing He also dreams whose dream ye are, 
Nor will endure to bound 
That vision by the sweep of any nearer star 

Than ye have found most fair. 
Therefore from faith to faith, from goal to goal 
Unfurl the sunward pathway of the soul — 
Ever a new horizon calling 
Over the crest of the purple hill. 

Ever amid the music falling 
A melody unremembered still — 
Ever to grow, to gain 
Wilder joy, wiser pain. 
Diviner peace to conquer and defend 
By more than mortal strife: — 
Life — everlasting life. 
World without end. 

Amen, 

[129] 



TURNS 

A new fixed form: Seven lines, in any 
rhythm, isometric and of not more than four 
feet; Riming AbacbcA, the first line and the 
last a Refrain; the Idea {as the name sug- 
gests) to Turn upon the recurrence of the 
Refrain at the end with a different sense 
from that which it bears at the beginning. 



PRELUDE 

Only you will understand, 

And at last I can be true. 
Oh, the ache of self-command, 

Hoarded laugh and hidden tear! 
Listen now . . . not even for you 
Have I words to make it clear. 
Only — you will understand! 



WHEN THE WEARY WINTER'S GONE 

When the weary Winter's gone. 

And the birds come back again. 
And the tenderness of dawn, 

And the hum and pulse of noon. 
And the laughter in the rain, — 
Is there one to share my June 
When the weary Winter's gone? 



[133] 



MISERERE 

Ah, God, my strength again ! — 

Not power nor joy, but these: 
The waking without pain, 
The ardour for the task. 
And in the evening, peace. 
Is it so much to ask? 
Ah, God, my strength again ! 



SEQUEL 

Love came back to look once more 

On the home he long had known: 
Found a vine across the door. 

Found the fountain foul and dry. 
Found the garden overgrown; 
Heard at last a tired sigh. . . . 
Love came back to look once more. 



[134 



" NUNC ET LATENTIS . . ." 

Gloom, and the sound of your breath ; 
Longing . . . and then your lips, 
And a heart that faltereth, 

And the soft surge of your breast- 
Then a slow sigh that slips 
Into a sob. Then . . . rest, 
Gloom — and the sound of your breath. 



HOME-COMING 

Shrive me of my sins, Dear Heart: 
Give me of the Bread and Wine ; 
Bid the waste and weight depart, 
Bid the best in me renew ; 
By the love that makes you mine, — 
By the God that loves in you, 
Shrive me of my sins. Dear Heart ! 



[135] 



CONGRATULATIONS 

How can he know your worth so well 
As I, who never loved you, Sweet? 
His love shall bind you, and compel 
Your heart, his only, to forget 
Whose word first taught that heart to beat. 
He is the worthier man . . . and yet. 
How can he know your worth so well? 



WEARINESS 

Weariness ; 

Neither pain 
Nor distress. 
Nor a sleep 
Sought in vain — 
Only deep 
Weariness. 



[136 



REVERIE 

I am very old to-night, 

And my light is burning low. 
There is neither dark nor bright 
In my seeing; but I see 
Only ghosts of long ago 

Gazing on me quietly. . . . 
I am very old to-night. 



A CHARACTER 

The heart of life is hid from him: 

He has no ear for overtones, 
No eye for blended hues or dim. 

Therefore he gives a name to each, 
Dockets our laughter and our moans, 
And hastens forth to judge and teach- 
The heart of life is hid from him. 



[137] 



UMBRA 

In the nighty the heart 

Feels the breath of things; 
Gathers sweet or smart 

Where the eyes are blind. 
Where no echo clings. 
In the day, the mind — 
In the night, the heart ! 



IN PASSING 

When all the world was gray. 
And all the airs were chill, 
And Summer worlds away. 
And senses out of tune — 
You touched me with a thrill 
Of momentary June, 
When all the world was gray. 



[138] 



RECALL 

Over the wintry sea 

I send my heart to you 
To rouse a memory 

Of hill-woods, and sweet rain, 
And the old songs we knew. 
And bring you home again 
Over the wintry sea. 



[139] 



THE MAKER OF IMAGES 



THE MAKER OF IMAGES 

Sunbeam and storm-cloud over the wonderful 
Sea, whereupon ships labour and mariners 

Hope and despair, while safe in haven 
Weavers of dream by the wayside wander 

Whose hands know not the oar, nor their eyes endure 
Insurgent ocean. Nevertheless, they live 
Not vainly, if at heart their dreams be 
One with the heart of the world forever. 



Long since, an unknown Maker of Images 

Walked where the shore looms high before Pergamon 

Fronting the sea. And while he dreamed there, 
Suddenly over the bright horizon 

Fell darkness. Birds cried out, flying heavily 
Down the wind. Blue gloom, swallowing sail by sail, 

Swung landward. The tall meadow-grasses 
Swayed like the mane of a beast in anger 

Arousing. . . . Then one glare, and a thunderbolt 
Cracked, and the world went out into colourless 

Ruin of rain, and sky and headland 
Blent with the spray of the plunging ocean. 

[US] 



POEMS 

Meanwhile, amazed, the Maker of Images 
Clung to the cliff. Then rose ; and at eventide, 

Through dew-sweet fields and rain-washed wood- 
land 
Wandered, as one having seen a vision. 

Homeward, without speech. And for many days 
Carved on the new-raised altar of Pergamon 
What he had seen : yet not the unmeaning 
Welter of cloud over storm-torn water, 

But warfare of white gods, the Olympians, 
Against the Earth-Born: Zeus, thunder-panoplied, 

Pallas, and Ares, and Poseidon 
Ranging the van of his windy legions, — 

While underneath, vain Giants in agony 

Piled mountains; and alone, understanding all, 

Foam-bosomed Aphrodite smiled down 
Quietly, out of the heights above them. 



Storms pass. Untold suns, glooms beyond numbering, 
Vanish. The unchanging pageant elaborates. 

And kingdoms fail, and strange commanders 
Govern imperial generations 



THE MAKER OF IMAGES 

Of momentary dust ; and the pyramid 
Follows the prince where, emulous, tremulous, 

Like motes along the moonbeam dancing 
Into the dark, the Enchanter changes 

Men, and the deeds of men. Yet through centuries 
Gone, since before that altar, adoringly 

With arms upraised, the Pergamaeans 
Gazed, and grew stronger of heart beholding. 

Their dreams remain. Still, still, as a thousand years 
Embody June, so now and forevermore 

New lamps, new eyes, one light undying 
Hold, and reveal in a thousand rainbows. 

All gods of all times fight for us, laugh with us ; 
Forgotten angels cool our delirium; 

Vague monsters from primeval caverns 
Widen the wondering eyes of children; 

And knights of old, high-hearted adventurers, 
Ride errant with us, making a tournament 
Of toil; and new-hung moons remember 
Passion and pang of imagined lovers 

Whose perfumed souls in blossomy silences 
Hunger, forlorn: Adonis, Endymion, 
Brynhild, Elaine, Ysolde, Helen, — 
Names like the touch of the lips that loved them, — 

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POEMS 

And brazen-handed heroes who sang as they 
Charged home against impregnable destiny 

Clang trumpets in our wars ; and saints leave 
Lilies of peace by the lonely highway. 



Pray therefore that, ourselves being treasurers 
Of beauty brought from Eden, ephemeral 

Husbands of ageless Dawn, our dreams too 
Mould for a moment the gold immortal 

Not fouled by unclean hands, nor unworthily 
Shapen for gain; nor scorned, while idolaters 

Of deities unborn unwisely 
Gather barbarian toys of tinsel 

To flatter purblind eyes. But remembering 
The beautiful old gods, and the champions 

Of storied wars, and sylvan horn-calls 
Waking mysterious elfin laughter, — 

We, in our own hour Makers of Images, 

Charm storm and day-dream into such harmony 

As men of deeds, beholding, long for. 
Forging the world into forms of heaven. 

New York, 1914.. 



[146] 



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